


Pieces of Us

by dentedsky



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentedsky/pseuds/dentedsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana is pregnant and doesn't know who the father is, Gwen sleeps around with all the wrong men, Merlin meets Arthur and thinks he's a tool, Arthur is getting married to the wrong person (who knew!) and it is possible Arthur is, actually, a complete tool after all.  Or: Wherein Morgana Hires Merlin to Pretend to be Her Boyfriend So Arthur Doesn't Find Out She's a Big, Big Slutty Person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stuff That Happens When Two People Come Together

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks: To Huey for the encouragement, Lizzie for the feedback, Nikki for the awesome fabulous beta job and also to Ann, who pushed, encouraged and let me whinge at her over and over about this silly fic.

“What am I going to do, Gwen?” Morgana agonised.  “I’ve booked a train ticket to Camelot for Friday.”

They were having after work drinks together at a small coffee shop near Morgana’s office.  She slid a finger down the porcelain handle of her tea cup, which contained herbal tea.  Her doctor had told her she wasn’t to have any caffeine, as well as alcohol, chocolate – in other words, everything good was off limits.

“We’ve still got time,” said Gwen optimistically.

Morgana gave her a look across the table.  “It’s Wednesday.”

“Er,” mumbled Gwen, as she cast her eyes around the room.  As she did, Morgana slumped a little in her chair, rubbing the smooth bump that was now her tummy and looked to the side.  A young male employee was up on a ladder trying to change a light bulb on the high ceiling. The ladder teetered precariously and Morgana shifted in her seat, fearing for her unborn child.  She was getting really paranoid about things like that recently – crowded streets, people on bikes speeding down the foot path –

She was going to have a baby.

Shit fuck buggery.

Four months ago, Morgana and Gwen had gotten rottenly sloshed one Saturday night, gone out on the town and Morgana had slept with Who The Hell Knew.  The next morning, she had slid out of the arms of Mr Hairy Chest (or whatever his name was) and crept to the toilet down the hall to do a wee.  As she sat on the loo, she’d felt something strange, and when she looked down she saw that the condom she’d used the night before had slid out of her and into the bowl.

One month after that, she had snuck out of the office to buy a pregnancy test.  In the office toilets, careful not to ruin her suit, she’d – well, long story short, the test said positive.

Linda, one of the junior accountants, banged on the stall wall and Morgana almost dropped the stick in shock.

“Morgana,” said Linda, “Steve wants you in the Training Room.  They’re having drinks with the Thompsons.”

“I’ll be right out,” she called shakily.  Steve was one of the partners, as was she; the only female partner of the cock-fest accounting firm in which she worked.  She half-stumbled into the Training Room just as Mr Thompson had said a particularly unfunny sexist joke, and Steve’s chin-wobbling guffaw almost made Morgana want to run back to the toilets and spew.

Morgana picked up a champagne flute, stared at the amber liquid for a moment, before putting it back down again.

Three months later, she’d almost gotten used to the whole being pregnant unexpectedly thing.  Gwen was supportive and everyone at work was congratulatory without asking too many questions.

She hadn’t told any of her family or friends back home, though.  So when her half-brother Arthur called her Wednesday morning to remind her to come to his wedding, she’d almost cried.

But she would never cry in front of Arthur, not even silently over the phone.

“Thanks for the short notice, Arthur,” she’d snapped at him.

“I sent you an invite six months ago,” was Arthur’s reply in his usual self-important clipped tone.  Oh right, thought Morgana, he had.  She remembered looking at it, then screwing it up and chucking it in the bin.  Then she had called Gwen to come get drunk with her while she bitched and moaned about that back-stabbing cow, Sophia.

“Do I really have to go?” she asked.

“Yes.  Sophia wants you to be there.”

“No she doesn’t, don’t lie to me, Arthur; you know I hate it.”

“_Morgana._  Father and I haven’t seen you in three years.”

She paused, speechless for about three seconds.  “Alright,” she said, finally.  “I’ll book a train for Friday morning, shall I?”

“Yes you shall.  See you soon.”

And that was how she got to sitting with Gwen in the coffee shop, quietly panicking.

“Why don’t you just tell them the truth?” Gwen asked.

“I _can’t_.  Uther is the lord and mayor of Camelot, and he and Arthur are rich, upper-class snobs.  Why do you think I ran away to London?  I mean, can you imagine if I just turned up at Arthur and Sophia’s wedding pregnant with no man?  They’d have kittens – it would be a huge scandal.”

Gwen’s expression suddenly brightened, smiling widely.  “I’ve got it!  All we have to do is find a man who would be willing to be your date.”

“Oh, really.  And where am I going to find a date to the wedding who would be willing to lie to my whole family, in a day?  Good-looking men don’t just fall from trees, you know.”

At that very moment, just as Morgana said _you know_, the man on the ladder slipped and fell down, landing on his back with a loud thump and a clatter right next to their table.  Morgana and Gwen gaped down at him in shock.

“Ugh,” the man groaned.  He looked about their age, perhaps a bit younger, and had dark hair that curled around his ears and cheekbones.  He pressed his lips together in pain and gazed up at them dazedly with the bluest eyes Morgana had ever seen.

“Are you alright?” Morgana enquired softly.

He grinned up at her, still looking dazed.  “I’m fine!”  He held out his hand for her to shake, which meant shoving it right up vertically in the air.  “I’m Merlin.”

Morgana awkwardly took his hand to shake.  “Morgana.”

Gwen did the same, then turned to Morgana and smiled triumphantly at her.

“What’re you doin’ on the floor, then?” A man boomed in suddenly.  It was the owner of the shop, and he was not happy.

He stormed over to Merlin.  “Only been working here two days,” he berated, “and what do I see?  You taking a nap on floor while you talk to your mates.  I suppose you think you can just laze around all day!  Well I’ll tell you something, young Merla – “

“It’s Merlin,” said Merlin.  He didn’t get up.

“Don’t speak to me in that ungrateful tone!  You’re fired!”

. . . .

Merlin stood self-consciously in his pokey little flat while the two women he had invited up also stood, watching him closely.  He cleared his throat.

The women exchanged glances.  Then the pregnant one called Morgana smiled at him apologetically.  “I’m sorry about you getting fired.”

Merlin returned her smile.  “Not your fault.  Besides, you shouted the house down.  It was very entertaining.”

She had.  After the boss had fired Merlin she had stood up and loudly berated him in front of all his customers on how Merlin had fallen from _his_ shoddy ladder and how Merlin was only being friendly to _his_ customers and how none of them were ever coming back there again.  Merlin had been speechless.

“I’m pregnant,” Morgana told him, “I’m allowed to shout.”

Merlin laughed and asked, “Would you like something to eat?  I think I have – er  - “ He went over to the open kitchen and looked in his freezer.  “Shepherd’s pie?”

“Do you want to make some money, Merlin?” Morgana blurted out suddenly.

Merlin slowly turned from the freezer, frozen shepherd’s pie in hand and making his fingers ache.  The two women had moved closer and were staring at him.

He huffed out a surprised breath, eyes wide.  “I’m really flattered, and everything, but I don’t do women.  And I don’t do _that_ either.  Well, that is, I tried once, I needed the money – “

“No no – you misunderstand!” said Morgana, and she hastily explained her and Gwen’s plan.

. . . .

After dinner, Morgana explained everything to Merlin, from her family and her shallow friends, to what she expected him to do.  Merlin took it all in stride.

“Sounds like fun,” he told them.  He looked completely unruffled by the whole scenario.

Morgana watched him closely for any sign of doubt, but he looked carefree and happy.  She hoped he wasn’t high.

On Friday Morgana and Merlin took the train together.  They bonded for some of the trip, but most time was spent reading their respective novels in silence.  (Though Morgana had had a little snigger at Merlin’s book choice: _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._  “It’s my favourite!” Merlin defended.)

. . . .

 They were picked up at the train station by a black Mercedes, whose driver actually wore a driver’s hat and opened doors for them.  When they arrived on the estate, Merlin couldn’t help staring open mouthed at the lush green grass, the lake, the horses and the huge white castle.  He couldn’t believe the opulence: it was like something out of a fairy tale.

“Jesus,” he swore.  He turned to Morgana, who was staring out the window with a tight, frosty expression.  “Do you own a pony?” he joked.

“I have two,” she said absently, tone low.  She seemed very tense, so Merlin slipped his hand into hers and she looked at him.

“It’s going to be fine,” he told her, hoping to come across as sincere as possible.  She turned back to look out the window.

When they walked around the side of the castle (a fucking castle! Merlin thought) they found people drinking tea in the rose garden.

A man was walking towards them.  Merlin’s lips parted and he let out a soft breath as he approached – he was beautiful: soft blonde hair, red lips in a tight pout, strong jaw and broad shoulders under a white polo shirt.

“Who in the wide world of porn is that?” Merlin asked Morgana, a bit breathlessly.  “He’s gorgeous.”

“It’s Prince Prat Brat himself,” Morgana answered from the corner of her mouth, because the man had come almost within hearing distance.  “My brother,” Morgana clarified quickly, in case Merlin hadn’t already figured it out.

Merlin hummed thoughtfully.  “Well from now on I’m calling him Prince Ken Doll,” he said quietly.

Morgana snorted and Arthur stopped in front of them.  “Morgana,” he said in greeting, and bloody hell, his voice was sexy too.  Arthur placed his hands on her shoulders in what Merlin supposed was Arthur’s version of a hug.

Arthur turned to Merlin, eyes sweeping over him briefly, before asking, “Do I know you?”

Merlin smiled and held out his hand.  “I’m Merlin.”

“So I don’t know you.”

“No – “

“Morgana,” said Arthur, turning to her and ignoring Merlin completely, “I was told to tell you to go see Father as soon as you arrived.”

“What are you, his errand boy?” she drawled at him, and Merlin was shocked by the coldness of her tone.  “How proud you must be, son of the mighty Uther.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous – “

“Morgana!” someone screeched, and Merlin was almost knocked sideways as a girl with long blonde hair threw herself into Morgana’s arms, the momentum sending them into Merlin.  He steadied Morgana’s shoulders and Morgana shoved the girl off.

“Watch it!” Morgana snarled at her, clutching her stomach.  The girl’s pretty mouth was curved into a ‘O’ of shock, eyes wide.

“Oh. My. God,” she exclaimed.  “You got _fat!_”

Merlin saw Arthur look at the round belly Morgana had tried to conceal with a loose blouse, and his expression was a mix of concern and surprise – but mostly concern.

“Merlin,” said Morgana, turning to him, “this is the bride-to-be, Sophia.”

“Morgana and I are bestest friends,” Sophia gushed.  She glanced at Morgana, giggled, then looked back at Merlin.  “Oh! And you must be the help.  That’s good; I was starting to worry when you would finally arrive.  The flowers need to be taken into the main hall and the soap in the bathrooms need to be swapped from lavender to chrysanthemum because I _hate_ lavender – “

“And the wedding dais needs sweeping,” Arthur added.  Then he grabbed Sophia’s hand.  “Come, Darling, the priest will be arriving soon and we need to sort out our vows.”

As he walked away with Sophia, Arthur looked over his shoulder at Morgana and said, “Go talk to Father.”  Then he was away.

Merlin gaped stupidly after them and Morgana was glaring at their retreating backs.

“Okay,” said Merlin slowly.  “What just happened?”

“They’re a match made in hell,” was Morgana’s reply.  She turned to him and something in her expression softened.  “I’m really sorry about my family, Merlin.”

He shrugged and gave her a small smile.  “I just have to keep reminding myself that you’re paying me.”

. . . .

It went in a downward spiral of doom from there.

After Merlin had unpacked their luggage in Morgana’s old bedroom, he had yet another run in with Arthur Small Penis Pendragon (he was coming up with more and more creative names).  Merlin had gone downstairs to try and find Morgana and had heard her distressed voice through a closed door, along with a deep, argumentative one that Merlin assumed belonged to Uther.  As he stopped next to the door to eavesdrop, Arthur rounded the corner, then rounded on him.

“What did I tell you earlier about the dais?” demanded Arthur, arms crossed and sharp blue eyes watching Merlin closely.

“That it needed to be swept?” answered Merlin in disbelief.

Arthur gave him a patronising look.  “And why haven’t you done it, Merlin?”

Merlin was a bit surprised Arthur had even remembered his name.  But he answered dutifully, “Because I am your guest, not your manservant, you dickhead.”

Arthur huffed out a disbelieving laugh.  “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Oh sorry, I meant, ‘ I am your guest, not your manservant you fu – uummmm - “

Arthur had stepped forward right into Merlin’s personal space.  They were practically nose-to-nose; Merlin could smell Arthur’s very alluring aftershave.  He tried not to sniff him too obviously.

“Tell me Merlin,” Arthur mocked conversationally, “do you know how to walk on your knees?”

Merlin took an abrupt step back and suppressed the wave of – of – something that definitely wasn’t hot, raw desire and said, “If this your way of making me give you a blow-job you can just fuck right off!”

Arthur’s look of wide-eyed blushing astonishment was priceless.  Merlin only got a second to appreciate it though, as Sophia rounded the corner.  She strode right up to Arthur.

“Where’s Morgana?” she demanded.  “I want to know where that cow has gone.  I’ve just been told she’s _pregnant!_  If that woman has deliberately sabotaged my wedding – “

She was cut off as voices on the other side of the door were raised several decibels.  Sophia slammed open the door and walked right into the room in which Uther and Morgana were having an obviously private conversation.

Arthur was scowling.  He strode into the room himself and Merlin followed.

“Did you do it to sabotage my wedding on purpose?” Sophia shouted at Morgana.

“Oh yeah,” said Morgana sarcastically, “I got _pregnant_ to _ruin_ your _wedding!_”

“Morgana,” said Arthur in a level voice.  She turned to him.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  I’m only a phone call away, you know that.”

“It’s none of your business, Arthur.”

“But it is our business,” said Uther.  Merlin, standing on the sidelines and feeling like a voyeur in a private family moment, thought Uther was the scariest man he had ever seen.  He seemed to command authority every time he even moved or said anything.  Merlin thought he could say “Hoozy Nozzle Watsit” in a stern voice and people would still take him very seriously.

“You’re a bitch,” Sophia told her, stupidly ignoring the men in the room.  Uther and Arthur glared at her incredulously.

“Oh _I’m_ a bitch!”  Morgana stepped closer to the other girl, her face thunderous.  “I’m not the one who kept going after her best friend’s boyfriends and spreading rumours about her behind her back!  And the fact that you’re marrying my brother - !  I have no words.”

“Morgana,” said Uther, “we must make a decision about your predicament.”

Morgana looked at him angrily, but Merlin saw the fear flash across her face.  “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means you will move back here,” said Arthur.

“I will not!”

“You will,” said Uther.

Merlin cleared his throat and everybody turned and stared at him.

Uther looked at Arthur.  “Who is this man?”

“My name is Merlin,” said Merlin, lifting his chin and walking forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Morgana.  “I am Morgana’s boyfriend, and the father of her unborn child.”

The three angry people were standing in a semi-circle around them, glaring.  Merlin was surprised his voice wavered only a little.

“And I – I don’t appreciate you talking to her that way.  Did you know undue stress can hurt the baby?  Now we may not be married but that doesn’t mean we don’t love one another, because we do, and I,” he threw her smile to make her feel better, “I love her.”

Morgana gave him a small, grateful smile.  Then they both looked back at the others, backs straight and confident.

The others stared back.  Sophia sneered.  Uther and Arthur raised simultaneous eyebrows.

“But you are coming back,” Arthur said to Morgana, a half-question.

She rolled her eyes.  “No, Arthur, I’m staying in London.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my home,” she answered simply.

“So why aren’t you married?” Uther asked her.  “You should get married before the child is born.”

Morgana gave him an incredulous look.  “I’m sorry, but what century are you living in?”

“Father’s right,” said Arthur, and Morgana glared at him.  Then he smirked and gave Merlin another one of his once-over looks.  “Get on one knee, Merlin.”

“Oh ha ha, very funny,” said Merlin.

“I’m serious.”  Arthur moved around to stand behind him and placed his warm, ring-adorned hands on his shoulders and tried to push down.  At the same time, Morgana grabbed Merlin’s arm hard, fingernails biting as she tried to keep him upright, muttering, “Don’t do it, Merlin, don’t!”  There was an intense struggle while brother and sister tried to man-handle him in a game of tug of war.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Uther told them in a commanding tone and the spoilt children let go immediately.  Uther gave Merlin a level look.  “You will propose to Morgana in a more romantic setting.”

“Um,” said Merlin.

. . . .

After the worst conversation Merlin had ever had was over, it was already time for dinner.  He joined everyone at the large lavish dining table.  It was a mediocre affair, as Uther, Arthur and Sophia decided to mostly ignore him and he was placed between Morgana and Arthur’s best man by the name of Lancelot, who was actually a really nice guy.  Why Lancelot was best friends with Arthur Merlin didn’t know; Merlin half expected Lancelot to turn around and start saying Arthur-like things such as ‘So how’s that knee walking coming along?’ But he didn’t, to Merlin’s intense relief; instead he just talked about how he’d always wanted to be policeman because his parents had been killed by robbers when he was small, and the police had been really kind to him.  Come to think of it, Merlin thought as he nodded along to Lancelot’s story, he’s a bit gloomy.

There was an awkward moment come bed time when Merlin and Morgana stood in their pyjamas on either side of the large bed, ready to pull back the covers.

“I’m gay,” Merlin blurted.

Morgana raised an eyebrow.  “I’m pregnant and may fart during the night.”

“So long as you keep it under the sheets,” Merlin told her faux solemnly, and the awkward moment was gone.

. . . .

Merlin was already a bit late to the ceremony, as he had been trying to get his hair into some semblance of neat.  That and he was rubbish at tying ties.  So when he came to the garden where the wedding was held, almost everyone had already arrived and were either finding their seats or already sitting in them.  Arthur, Lancelot and the priest were up front; Arthur’s jaw was clenched in nervousness and Lancelot was talking to him, probably trying to console him.  It didn’t seem to be working.

Merlin walked down the aisle, hands in his trouser pockets, casually trying to look for Morgana.  His steps faltered, however, when he looked back down the red carpet.

Arthur was watching him.

Merlin kept walking, but he was slower, so much slower, like time was pressing on and around him.  It was just – the expression on Arthur’s face: lips parted, expression serious yet soft.  And Merlin could not look away, felt as if he could never look away.  The corners of his vision seemed to blur:  people’s excited voices and children’s laughter faded, white streamers tied to the trees undulated softly like a caress and Merlin could hardly breathe and still Arthur kept looking, watching, waiting, wanting and Merlin could barely swallow.

The moment was broken when Merlin arrived near the front and Morgana hissed his name and grabbed his wrist to pull him down into the seat next to her.  Merlin looked up to see Arthur had looked away.  But Arthur looked back again, over his shoulder, and it was Merlin’s turn to cast his eyes down, force himself to swallow.

Everyone was seated and a small flower girl about six years old danced down the aisle.  People turned to look to coo and murmur “how cute!” but Merlin didn’t look; he glanced up under his lashes and saw that Arthur was watching him side-long.

Then the wedding song was in full swing and Sophia came down the aisle on her father’s arm, and Arthur wouldn’t look at him at all.  And that was it.

It was over.

. . . .

At the reception in the Great Hall, Morgana sat at the round table with Merlin, as well as Nimueh, Helen and all the other bitchy bitches she went to school with, plus their dates.  Nimueh was giving Morgana her usual creepy smile that clearly said, ‘I know you got yourself knocked up’ and Helen was looking sarcastically sympathetic.  Next to Morgana, Merlin was already downing his third flute of champagne.  She envied him.

There was a tinkling noise of a spoon being tapped on a glass and everyone stopped their conversations to look up at the head table, where Lancelot, next to the bride and groom, stood with a glass of white wine raised.

“I have been friends with Arthur for a long time,” Lancelot began, his speech tinged with a kind of bleakness only Lancelot could accomplish.  “He’s a great man: honourable, decent, chivalrous – “

“Is he talking about the same Arthur who got married today?” Merlin murmured jokingly in her ear.

“Lancelot thinks the light shines out of his arse,” Morgana murmured back.

“Then Sophia came along,” Lancelot continued, “and Arthur changed.  Now they are married, and we wish them all the best.  So, a toast, to Arthur and Sophia!”

Most people immediately raised their glasses and cheered, but those who had actually been listening to Lancelot’s back-handed compliment did so more hesitantly.  Morgana laughed.

The band started playing ‘Eternal Flame’ and due to tradition, the groom took the bride’s hand and led her to the dance floor for the first dance of the night.  Everyone watched for a bit, then other couples went to join them in their slow dance.  Merlin stood up and held out his hand.

“A dance, my dear?” Merlin requested.

Morgana took it.  “It would be an honour, young man.”

They only danced until the end of the song, because Merlin was truly bad at dancing and Morgana feared he would trip them up and hurt the baby.  She saw Sophia’s father ask his daughter for a dance and she took her opportunity and abandoned her frankly relieved date and made a beeline for Arthur.

“Morgana,” Arthur murmured, inclining his head as he took her waist and hand and guided her easily around the room, graceful even though she was bulging a bit in the front.

“Arthur.” She nodded back.  “So who’s responsible for the terrible song choice?”

He snorted.  “Sophia obviously.”  The hand clasping hers shifted a bit.

“Nervous?” she asked casually.

He clenched his teeth and looked over the top of her head.  “I don’t get nervous.”

“Say what you want about the food but – “ She paused as Arthur turned them in a swift circle. “- you can’t beat a good speech for entertainment.”

“Mm,” mumbled Arthur, still distractedly looking over her head.  Curiously, she looked over her shoulder to follow his line of sight, but all she saw were Merlin, Lancelot and Leon talking together.

She excused herself to go sit down, and from then on the party seemed to go on without her.  Everyone got drunk, danced to bad nineties pop songs (like the Macarena), played stupid wedding games while she sat on the sidelines, too sober to enjoy herself and too scared to join in with dances like the Chicken Dance Polka for fear someone would elbow her in the stomach while trying to flap their wings.  She went to bed early.

. . . .

Merlin, on the other hand, had had loads of fun at the reception the night before.  By the time he, Lancelot and Leon had snuck two tequila shots each and Merlin had tripped over his own feet twice while trying to do the Hokey Pokey, he had completely forgotten about that strange moment he’d had with Arthur while waltzing down the aisle.  And when he did remember, he realised that he had been stupid.  No way did Arthur... _look_ at him like that; he probably wasn’t looking at him at all!  The sun had been quite bright; perhaps Arthur had been looking in a completely different direction, or maybe he’d been scrutinising Merlin’s badly done-up tie, or staring off in the distance, or something.

He stood on the porch and watched Morgana and Sophia talking in the morning sun, while a servant packed Sophia’s luggage into the boot of a silver Audi.  Arthur came out of the house and stepped up beside him.

Merlin slid his eyes over to look at him.  Arthur was watching the women with a stoic expression, arms crossed.

“Heard Tahiti’s nice this time of year,” said Merlin conversationally.  “Lots of... flowers.”

Arthur snorted.

“So you get to go to Tahiti on your honeymoon,” Merlin continued; “life is just not fair.  And I’m... going to London.”  Merlin was unsure why he was bothering to talk to Arthur at all, except perhaps to keep up the pretence that they were almost brothers-in-law.  But also because he sort of... wanted to talk to Arthur, to suss him out.

Arthur took a deep breath.  “Well.  You’ve been terrible.  Really I mean it – the worst person I would ever have chosen for Morgana.”  The small smile he turned to Merlin belied his words, though, and Merlin smiled back, understanding the hidden message: _but you’re alright._

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“Also your name is weird,” Arthur added.

Merlin shrugged.  “What can I say?  My mum likes wizards.  She has a dog called Gandalf, a cat named Rincewind and three fish called Harry, Ron and Draco.”

Arthur broke out into soft laughter, his face transforming from handsome to just plain cute: wide grin, crinkles at the corners of his eyes.  It was so endearing, so open Merlin had to look away after a bit, as if blinded by the sun.

Morgana walked up to them.  Behind her, Sophia was scolding the servant for packing her luggage wrong.  Morgana stopped in front of Arthur and said half-sarcastically, “Hope you have fun on your honeymoon.”

Arthur gave her a sincere look.  “I’ll come and visit you in London.”

Morgana’s eyes were wide open with disappointment.  “No you won’t,” she said.


	2. The Stuff That Happens After The Party Is Over

Morgana and Merlin returned to their ordinary lives back in the big city, where Morgana went back to her high-stress job and Merlin went back to no job at all.  Even so, he had told Morgana not to pay him, telling her, “I would rather be your friend.  Besides, you’ve got a baby on the way; you’ll need the money more than me.”

“I’ve got loads, Merlin.  Take it.”

And he had, promising that he would one day pay her back.  If Morgana was honest with herself, and she liked to believe she always was, she assumed she would never see Merlin again.  But she was wrong.

Merlin and Gwen had struck up such a sudden, close friendship that the two of them were always around.  Morgana saw at least one of them once a day – whether it was a quick coffee, or after work drinks, or coming over to watch their favourite movies (Moulin Rouge was always a hit if they had nothing else.)

She was grateful to them for their enthusiasm and friendship but even so, she could not help the loneliness from creeping in, the crying on her pillow at night, the sharp darkness that half a bottle of wine had always managed to make fuzzy at the edges.  She didn’t tell Merlin or Gwen when she went for an ultrasound scans.  She laid back in the hospital bed while Dr Aglain pointed to the baby on the black-and-white screen with one hand, while the other massaged her tummy with the ultrasound device.

“Do you see it?” asked Dr Aglain.  “There – that’s the head.”

Morgana was so chocked up with emotion that all she could do was shakily whisper, “I see.”

“Do you want to know the sex?” he asked.

She looked at him sharply.  “You – you can tell?”

“Oh yes.”  He gave her a warm, encouraging smile.

She inhaled shakily and nodded.

A week later, Merlin went back to Ealdor to visit his parents and best friend Will.  Merlin sat on his single bed in his childhood bedroom, walls covered with posters of Top Gun, Placebo and Brad Pitt.  Will stood in front of him and crossed his arms.

“Gorgeous, you say?”

“Stunning,” said Merlin a teasing quirk of his eyebrows.  “Blonde, blue eyes - but a complete prat.”

Will snorted.  “You’re in love.”

“What!”  Merlin made a face.  “No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Merlin laughed.  This was just Will being Will, he figured.  “What part of ‘his personality is shit’ did you not understand?”

Some days after Merlin returned, he received a phone call.  He had landed a job at the Natural History Museum.

At some point, Gwen had stopped hanging out with them due to a new boyfriend: a tall bloke named Robert.  She spent a whole week in his bed when she wasn’t at work, and when that love rollercoaster ended almost as soon as she had gotten on, she had cried, gotten pissed, then cried some more.  Merlin made her come over to Morgana’s, and several glasses of wine later, he put on Eric Carmen’s ‘All By Myself’ really loudly.  They sang together in their pyjamas, and acted out the drum part at the climax of the song.

When the song ended, Morgana said, “It’s a boy.”

Time watched from above as two friends, one pale, one dark, threw their arms around their pregnant girlfriend.  Then Time passed by in a prophetic blur, smiling softly, and declared two months had gone.

. . . .

It was four thirty on a Friday afternoon, the special hour when the staff ran around the office pretending to do work when really they were slacking off till the clock hit five and they could all rush to the pub.

In her office, Morgana leaned back in her leather chair and looked out the window, not even pretending to listen to Steve natter at her from across her desk.

“I’m handing some of your medium clients over to Nathan,” he said.

Morgana’s cold eyes snapped to his.  “Excuse me?”

Steve straightened in his chair and smirked.  “You’re going on leave.”

“Not for another three months; I’m more than capable of handling my clients until then.”

The phone buzzed and Morgana answered it, growling a little under her breath.  “Patricia?”

“The Emrys Corporation is on line one for you,” Patricia, the receptionist, told her.  She sounded puzzled – she obviously had never heard of such a client and neither had Morgana, for that matter.  “And I’ve got your brother on hold.”

“I’m in a meeting with Steve; take messages – “

“No by all means!” said Steve, smirking with an evil glint in his eye.  “Take the calls.”

Morgana scrutinised him for beat, then said to Patricia, “I’ll talk to the client.  Tell my brother I’ll call him back.”

When she hung the receiver, Steve reached over her desk and hit line one then speaker.

Morgana glared at him but said quickly, “Morgana speaking – “

“_IF YOU LIKE PINA COL-LA-DAS!_” Merlin and Gwen shrieked over the speaker phone.  Mortified, Morgana cut off their raucous giggling by picking up the receiver and slamming it back down.

The phone buzzed again.  Steve was outright grinning at this point, mouth wet and chins wobbling with mirth.  Morgana picked up the phone and Patricia said, “I’m really sorry.  Your brother’s on line two – he won’t take no for an answer!”

“It’s fine, I’ll take it,” said Morgana, because Patricia was a sensitive girl and Arthur was a spoilt brat who could be very mean to undeserving receptionists when he wanted to be.  Steve put it on speaker again.

Arthur said immediately, “Why the fuck did you put me on hold for, you fat bitch?”

Steve laughed.

“Just so you know,” said Morgana to Arthur, though she was glaring at Steve, “you’re on speaker and I’m not alone in the room.”

“I’ll be in London tonight,” said Arthur abruptly.  “So pick me up from the train station at seven.”

“_What!_” Morgana yelled at the phone, ignoring Steve, for now. 

“I’ll be staying at your town house,” Arthur continued conversationally.

Morgana was livid.  Steve drawled, “Interesting work you must do all day, Morgana.”

And that was it; Morgana snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight and she stood up, leaned her belly on top the wood of her desk, reached out with manicured hands and grabbed Steve’s tie, yanking him forward and out of his seat with a strength only a hormonal pregnant woman could manage.

“Listen to me, you glutinous arsehole,” said Morgana, quietly and carefully.  “If I go on maternity leave and come back and find that you have weaselled me out of my job, I will hunt you down, rip off you balls and shove them so far down your throat you’ll choke then shit them out.  Then I’ll piss on you.”

“Oh my god,” laughed Arthur, “is that your boss?”

“No,” said Morgana, still quiet, still glaring at Steve who wore an expression like a deer caught in headlights.  “He likes to _think_ he is, but he’s _not._  He just feels threatened by me because I’m younger than him, better at my job than him and have a vagina.”

She abruptly let go and Steve thumped back into his seat, teetering on the edge for a moment, almost falling off.

There was silence, then –

“So book a table at a decent restaurant for seven thirty,” Arthur continued, nonchalant.  There was an almost audible hesitation from Arthur, and then he asked, “Are you still seeing that man, Merlin?”

Morgana too hesitated.  Shit.  “Yes...”

“Bring him along.  My treat.”

. . . .

Morgana had sounded hysterical.

Merlin hit the end button on his phone, then tapped it on his chin.  He and Gwen stood in the lounge room of his cupboard-sized flat and stared at each other.

“Arthur’s coming - I need to pack,” said Merlin, dazed.  “I have to move in with Morgana.  Then I have to pick up Arthur from the train station because Morgana won’t have time – “

Gwen grabbed his arm.  “Go pack, we’ll go to Morgana’s – I have a key – then you go pick up Arthur and I’ll unpack and fix up the house a bit so it looks like you’ve been living there.  I’ll be gone before you get back.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered, sincerely.  “This buggers up our plans.”

Gwen smiled at him.  “It happens.”

Five past seven, Merlin wandered onto the train platform and spotted Arthur on the edge, next to the rails.  He had his suitcase by his feet and was frowning down at something silver in his hands.  As Merlin moved closer, he saw it was a digital camera.  Arthur still hadn’t seen him.

What happened next was a bit of a fast blur, like a smudge on Merlin’s life line.  However, when Merlin would remember it later, it would be in slow motion.

Three youths ran past and knocked Arthur off the edge just as a train was arriving and Merlin sprinted the last few steps, grabbed Arthur’s upper arms and pulled him to safety.  The train rushed past them, whipping their coats hems with the _whoosh_ of air.

They held their breath, watching the train come to a complete stop, unable to move.  Merlin still had his arms around Arthur and he held on tight.

Arthur looked at him, studied his face for a second, eyes still wide, and said, “Merlin.”

Merlin let go, took a step back and gave him a nod.  “Arthur.”

Arthur frowned.  “Where’s Morgana?”

“She’s going to meet us there,” Merlin answered.  He still felt breathless weird about the saving Arthur’s life thing that had just happened, so he went into auto pilot and babbled.  “She had to work late and it’s really hard to get out of the city in rush hour and anyway, she takes the tube to work and leaves her car at home and seeing as I was at home already she phoned and asked me to pick you up, plus it’s closer – “

Arthur was staring at Merlin, face slowly melting from shock to disbelief, looking at Merlin as if Merlin was the biggest idiot in the world.

“- and the restaurant is right near her work so it’s pointless for her to come,” he finished.

Arthur continued to wear his ‘oh my god, you are an idiot’ face, even when he picked up his suitcase and followed Merlin to the car.

It was probably just Merlin’s imagination, but the silence in the car on the drive over to the restaurant was awkward.  He should not have felt that way, as Arthur was fiddling with his camera again and ignoring Merlin’s stammering attempts at conversation.

“So...” said Merlin.  “How long are you staying for?”

Arthur didn’t look up.  “A month or so.”

Merlin glanced at him quickly, not wanting to take his gaze off the road.  “A month!”

“Yeah,” said Arthur.  He suddenly lifted his camera and took a profile shot of Merlin.  The flash blinded him for a whole two seconds.

“So why did you come?”

“To visit Morgana,” answered Arthur, blasé, as he pressed buttons.  “She’s pregnant, I want to help.  And also – “ He stopped and Merlin caught the rapid glance thrown his way.  “Um.  My father asked me.”

“Oh,” said Merlin, nodding.  “So what are – “

“Merlin.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

The conversation only got worse when they arrived at the five star restaurant and had to sit across from each other, as Morgana had yet to arrive.  Merlin peered up that the glittering chandeliers and Arthur asked, sounding bored, “So Merlin.  What do you do for a living?”

Merlin looked at him and leaned forward.  He grinned.  “Actually, I’m a tour guide at a museum.”

Arthur looked up from his perusal of his menu and stared at him.  “You’re a tour guide,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing with incredulity.

“It’s great,” Merlin told him enthusiastically.

Arthur’s mouth twisted.  “You can’t be making much money.”

Merlin shrugged and opened his own menu.  “It’s enough for me.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, but Merlin felt like he was being watched.  When he looked back up again, Arthur was glaring with calm anger.  “And what about Morgana, and the baby?  How do you suppose you’re going to support her?”

“She’s really rich,” Merlin blurted, and regretted it instantly when Arthur’s jaw clenched.

“Are you trying to tell me,” Arthur bit out slowly, “you’re only marrying Morgana for her money?”

“Yes,” said Merlin, because his brain had said factually, ‘she paid you the first time!’ and then another part of his brain screamed ‘OH DEAR GOD STOP TALKING’.  “Ah, no,” he dithered, “no, ahhh, what?  We aren’t getting married.”

Arthur’s face turned absolutely thunderous.

Luckily, Merlin was saved from what he assumed would be a very frightening lecture by the arrival of his pretend girlfriend.  Arthur stood up and helped Morgana into her seat with impeccable manners.  “Thank you,” she said, poised, as Arthur sat back down in his own seat.  Merlin felt like a bit of an outcast, suddenly – a commoner in a high-class establishment he would never had visited, with the two most beautiful people in the whole world: Morgana with long, dark hair, wearing her work blouse and suit trousers, and Arthur in a casual navy shirt with his own blonde hair looking soft and styled as if he had just walked out of the hair dressers.

Then Morgana ruined it all with a hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here, Arthur?”

Arthur gave her an innocent look that was very clearly faked.  “I’m here,” he said sarcastically, “with my darling sister, and her gold-digging beggar boyfriend, hoping to have a nice, quiet meal and conversation.”

Morgana picked up a bread roll and threw it the short distance at him.  It bounced off his impressive chest, and he brushed off the crumbs.  “You can say what you like about me,” Morgana told him, low and dangerous, “but don’t you dare say anything about Merlin.  He is the kindest, most loyal friend and how dare you make judgements – “

“Alright!” Arthur put up a hand to stall her tirade.  “I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn.”  He looked at both of them earnestly.  “Clearly, your relationship is none of my business.”

“Clearly,” said Morgana, still angry.

Merlin shifted in his seat.

“I came to help you, Morgana,” Arthur told her.

“Well I don’t need any help, thank you Arthur.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.  “Why is it you always snub every little thing I say?”

“Because every little thing you say is stupid,” Morgana hissed.

The waiter arrived and like water poured over slanted glass, the siblings leaned back and smoothed their expressions to polite interest as they listened to the waiter list the specials.

After ordering, there was silence.

Arthur was looking over at the next table, where a young couple sat.  When the woman looked over at their table, Arthur gave her slow, flirtatious smile.  The girl blushed, glanced away, then back again.

Morgana threw another roll at him.

“So how is Sophia?” Morgana asked innocently.

. . . .

Merlin was running late for work.  He pulled on his trousers while jogging down the stairs.  His hair was still wet from the shower because he hadn’t had time to dry it and as he burst into the kitchen he managed to get one button done up on his uniform shirt.

He was so frantic he had barely noticed Arthur leaning casually against the sink while biting into some toast.

“Want some eggs?” asked Arthur as Merlin opened the fridge and shoved his head in.

“No thanks, running late, just want my liquid breakfast – “

“Liquid breakfast?” Arthur repeated in that incredulous tone he was so good at.

“Yeah,” said Merlin as he pulled out an Up’n’Go and searched for a banana.  “It’s like cereal and milk as a drink.”

Merlin found his banana and straightened, as Arthur quipped, “Sounds about as appetising as giant baby rat stew.”

Merlin laughed then abruptly stopped on a shocked gasp.  He stared at Arthur.  “Oh my god.”

Arthur self-consciously wiped his mouth of crumbs.  “What is it?”

“You’re funny,” Merlin murmured, one hand holding his breakfast drink and the other a banana.  “You’re not meant to be funny.”

“Since when?” retorted Arthur, visibly relaxing and taking another bite of his toast.  Merlin nudged the fridge door shut, then looked down at himself to see that the one button he had done up had undone itself.  He groaned.

“I’m going to be so late,” Merlin whined.  Arthur looked like he could not care less, lids half-lowered over eyes that were surveying Merlin’s open shirt, probably with distaste at how Merlin couldn’t dress himself properly, Merlin figured.  Merlin noticed the steaming mug of coffee on the bench next to Arthur’s hip, put the banana under one arm and made a grab for the coffee, swallowing some down as Arthur made loud protesting noises through a mouthful of toast.

“Thanks,” said Merlin blithely as he placed the mug back down, pivoted and ran from the room.  He told himself his haste was due to needing to catch the bus, not at any fear for what Arthur would do to avenge his morning coffee.

He’ll just have to make Arthur a cup tomorrow morning, instead.

. . . .

“Why don’t you just tell him the truth?” Gwen asked Morgana later, over the phone.

“I’ve thought about it,” Morgana admitted quietly as she peered around the door.  Arthur was sitting at the window in the lounge, at the little writing desk, tapping away at his laptop.  She went back into the hall and shut the door behind her. And she _had _thought about telling Arthur the truth...

“It could go really badly, Gwen,” she continued.  “He might tell Uther.  He might also get really mad that I lied to him in the first place.”

“I’m sure he’d understand about bringing Merlin to his wedding,” said Gwen.  She was usually a shy, tentative girl, except when she really felt strongly about something, and then she went to town.  “If you keep lying to him now, he’ll never forgive you!  Imagine what will happen when he finally does find out – I mean, what are you going to do, ask Merlin to fake marry you?”

Morgana hesitated, and then said, “Actually, I was going to fake dump Merlin after Arthur left.”

“Well that won’t work,” Gwen huffed over the line as Morgana frowned and walked the rest of the way to her bedroom.  “If you tell Arthur that, he’ll only come back to London and beat Merlin up for abandoning you and the baby!”

Morgana bit her lip and leaned back against her now closed bedroom door – she hadn’t thought of that.  She looked down at where Merlin had chucked his pyjamas on the bedroom floor in his haste to get ready for work this morning, and felt a strange flutter in her stomach at how easily Merlin had gotten into his usual routine after moving in with her.  It seemed homely, as if Merlin actually belonged.

“- Merlin’s feelings,” Gwen rambled on.  Morgana shook herself – she had let her mind wander.  “What if he meets a nice bloke and he wants his privacy, and doesn’t want to date you anymore?  What then?  He won’t dump you, you know, he’s much too nice.”

Morgana hadn’t thought of that, either.  “Oh,” she whispered, “what a mess.”

She must have sounded very dejected because Gwen said nothing.  Then Morgana stood up straight, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.  “No,” she said finally.  “My way’s better.”

Gwen sighed.  Then she said, perkily, “So you going to ask me about my night, or what?”

Morgana sat on the bed and grinned.  “How was your night?”

“Great!  I went out with the bitches from work and got completely smashed and went home with this guy named Mario.  Mario!  Like from Super Mario Brothers, only he was fewer pixels and more Italian Stallion.”

Gwen and Morgana laughed.

“I only just left his place!” said Gwen gleefully.  “Oh Morgana, you should have seen his doodle: nice and big, like.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“We’re going to see a movie tomorrow.”

Morgana looked down at the floor and tried to stifle the wave of jealousy at Gwen’s good luck.  She toed Merlin’s pyjama bottoms, unable to fully get Merlin and Arthur out of her mind.

They talked more, then after Morgana hung up she went downstairs and stood next to Arthur.  She contemplated lifting her hand and running her fingers through his hair.  He finished typing his email and clicked on send, then turned in his seat and faced her fully, face tilted upwards inquiringly.

She didn’t say anything, and her fingers twitched uselessly at her side.  Then he said, “Today I’ll just finish some work and then we’ll relax, watch some DVDs, what do you say?”

Morgana smiled and nodded, then felt the baby move.  It wasn’t the first time, but it always took her a bit by surprise anyway.  She placed a hand gently on her tummy.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice, though he did raise his eyebrows high enough that they disappeared past his blonde fringe with some exasperation and said, “I checked the spare room upstairs – there’s no baby things in there, not even a cot.  So tomorrow I’ll take you shopping for baby clothes.  Should be fun – are you alright?”

Morgana had felt it again, and had placed her other hand gently on her mound.  “Fine.”  She swallowed.  She looked out the window and at the street.  An old couple wandered slowly by, jackets pulled tight around them against the November cold.  “Say something else,” she requested.

Arthur pursed his lips.  “I suppose Merlin should come – “

“He’s working,” said Morgana quickly, wanting Arthur to talk more.

“When does he get time off?”

“Mondays and Tuesdays.”

“Then on Monday I’ll drag him around to buy less fun things, such as nappies.  We should decorate the nursery.”

“Touch my stomach!” Morgana shouted at him suddenly.  She grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach, then she giggled hysterically.

Arthur squirmed in his seat.  “Do I really have to?  This is weird – OH MY GOD,” he shouted, half-jumping out of his seat, though his hand stayed where it was.

They both looked at each other and Arthur laughed uneasily when the baby kicked, once, then again.  “Say something else!” Morgana demanded.  “He’s responding to your voice!”

“It’s a he?” asked Arthur.

The baby kicked.

“Yes!” Morgana gushed.  “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!”  It kicked again.  “He hates me!”

“No, Arthur, I think he loves you!”  Morgana smiled widely.

. . . .

Merlin could not believe Arthur had dragged him out to buy nappies and dummies and all sorts of baby things.  Not only was Arthur the bossiest uncle-to-be that had ever lived, he was also strangely good at the uncle-to-be thing.  It was a big surprise to Merlin, who had thought Arthur was a prat, and therefore not very worldly in regards to women and babies.  Arthur’s manliness, at least, was kept in check simply by ordering Merlin around and making him carry everything.

“What _is_ this?” asked Merlin, dropping the huge (and Merlin meant HUGE) pack of nappies on the shop floor and lifting up a tall, thick cylinder object.

“It’s a nappy disposal unit,” Arthur answered distractedly, concentration mostly on the baby change table displays, of which they were standing in front.  Merlin put the disposal unit back down carefully and picked up the Nappy Pack of Ginormousness.

“Do we really need this many?”

Arthur turned to Merlin, stared at him a moment, then answered, “That pack will last approximately three weeks.”

“What,” said Merlin.  He held the pack out to read the front.  Two hundred nappies in three weeks?  Arthur was joking, surely – but another look at the man’s face and Merlin saw that Arthur was deadly serious.  Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“How is it you know so much?” Merlin asked as they left the shop.

  

  1. “I read baby books.”
  



Merlin watched him as they walked down the street, arms laden with baby things.  Merlin supposed Arthur was... an okay bloke once you got to know him.  Under all that bravado was an honourable man who cared about his family.  It was nice.

“Merlin!” someone called from behind.  Merlin and Arthur stopped and turned to see Tristan and Sol walking rapidly towards them.

“Oh no,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur gave him a curious look.  “Friends of yours?”

Merlin didn’t have time to answer because the men had already approached.  Tristan and Sol had been a couple for as long as Merlin had known them, which was about three years.  They had all been co-workers at Destiny – a gay club – before Merlin had had a fight with his boss about inappropriate touches being sexual harassment, and Merlin had gotten fired.  Which was unfair; Merlin didn’t particularly like it when dirty old men stuck their wrinkly fingers up his short-shorts.  Tristan and Sol had been lucky: Tristan had nice muscles and had sneakily spread the rumour that he owned a gun, and that he was _very_ possessive of his boyfriend.

Tristan gave both Merlin and Arthur once-overs, taking in the merchandise they were carrying.  Sol looked at Arthur only and leered.

“Tristan, Sol,” Merlin greeted, nodding nervously at each of them.  “How are you?”

“Gooood,” said Tristan, slow and disbelieving.  “Who’s your boyfriend?”

Merlin coughed and felt himself blush.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”  He paused, not wanting to say what he was going to say next, but knowing he had to.  “This is Arthur.  He’s my girlfriend’s brother.”

Tristan and Sol stared at Arthur, then at Merlin.

“Your girlfriend,” Tristan repeated flatly.  He gave Merlin a searching look and Merlin gave him a pleading ‘please just go with it’ stare.  Tristan seemed to get it, because he turned to Arthur again and held out his hand to shake.  “Arthur.  I’m Tristan, and this is my boyfriend Sol.”

“Hi,” said Sol softly, blushing as Arthur too shook his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” said Arthur, the epitome of polite.  Sol giggled.

Tristan stared at Merlin some more while Sol fluttered his eyelashes at a baffled Arthur.  “Dare I ask about the baby stuff, Merlin?” said Tristan tentatively.

“My girlfriend Morgana,” Merlin answered, full of trepidation, “is pregnant.  Arthur’s just helping me out.”

“Jesus Christ, Merlin,” Tristan whispered.

“You’re very handsome,” Sol gushed at Arthur.

Arthur shifted the merchandise in his arms and turned to Merlin.  “So we should probably go,” he said, widening his eyes significantly.

“Yes, we should,” said Merlin quickly, already backing up a step.  He would have given Tristan and Sol an awkward little wave if he had any arms free.  “I’ll see you guys later.”

“I’ll call you,” Tristan called after them as Merlin and Arthur turned away and strode down the street.  It sounded less like a promise and more like a death threat.

After they were down the street a bit and closer to where they’d parked, Arthur asked Merlin how he knew them.

“We used to work together at a club called Destiny,” Merlin told him.

“Sounds... nice,” said Arthur dubiously.

Merlin shook his head.  “You’d hate it.  I got fired because the boss kept fondling me and I told him off.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him.

“It was a gay club,” Merlin clarified.

Arthur raised the other eyebrow to join the first.

“Got to make a living, right?”  Merlin laughed nervously.

Now the eyebrows were pulled together to compliment lips pursed into a frown.

 “Right,” said Arthur, then added, deadpan: “Maybe the two of us should go sometime.”

“What?” said Merlin, staring at Arthur so hard he walked into a street sign.

Arthur threw back his head and laughed.


	3. The Stuff That Happens When Alcohol Is Involved

Merlin had once introduced Gwen to his friend Sigan (which wasn’t his first name, but Cornelius Sigan promised to set his rabid flying monkeys on anyone who dared call him Corny for short).  What Merlin had not anticipated, however, was that Tristan and Sol would phone Sigan, who phoned Gwen, who phoned Merlin that evening.

Gwen laughed at Merlin over the phone for twenty whole seconds.

When she had finished braying like a bloody horse, she said, “I feel sorry for you, Merlin.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Gwen laughed again.

Merlin sighed the sigh of a long-sufferer.  “Are you done?”

“Yes yes,” answered Gwen.  “Sorry.  I tried to tell Morgana this situation would spiral out of control, but she wouldn’t listen to me.  If it’s any consolation, I think everyone’s had enough of it already: Morgana’s stressed, Tristan’s very confused and Arthur’s probably sensed something’s wrong by now.  But don’t worry, I explained everything to your fags; they know the whole story now.”

“Great,” said Merlin honestly, “thanks Gwen.”

“You’re welcome.  Anyway, I really called to remind you it’s my birthday on Thursday.”

“Yes,” said Merlin, “I hadn’t forgotten.”  He had bought her a home manicure kit while out with Arthur, complete with sweet scented body scrub and lotion.  Not very original, but he knew Gwen liked that girly stuff.

“So I’m thinking drinks on Friday night, Lucky Cash bar.  Cover band will be playing.  Oh!  And I’ll bring my new boyfriend, Mario.”  She made a high-pitched noise over the line that sounded suspiciously like ‘squee!’

“Super Mario Brothers,” quipped Merlin, “I heard.”

“Italian Stallion!” Gwen corrected.

Friday night rolled round and Merlin, Arthur and Morgana arrived late to the pub, though they weren’t the latest – apparently Mario had yet to come.  Merlin stuck close to Morgana’s side as they entered, not wanting to accidently bump Arthur in case he blushed and flailed and generally made a fool of himself: Merlin had been feeling increasingly strange and hot in Arthur presence ever since Monday when Arthur had made that comment about going to a gay bar together, though Wednesday night had to have been the icing on the surprise flavoured cake this week.

It had been very late in the evening, after midnight in fact, and Merlin had decided to sleep in the guest room (soon-to-be nursery) which was located upstairs next to the master bedroom, where Arthur slept (Morgana had moved downstairs to avoid climbing stairs).  Merlin and Morgana had made the decision together that afternoon, as Morgana tended to wake up several times in one night, and Merlin felt he could use the privacy and room to move.

It meant sharing a bathroom with Arthur though.  At about half past midnight, Merlin walked the short distance to the bathroom, only to find it occupied.

Arthur had left the door open and the light on, so Merlin had a view of Arthur bending over the sink as he spat out his tooth paste.  The man was only wearing boy-shorts and a tight white t-shirt, which meant when he bent over like that, just so, his toned, soft-looking bum cheeks could be seen peeking from below the line of his underwear.  The t-shirt rode up to show a pale, blemish-free lower back, spine bumps accentuated by the arch.

Merlin didn’t know how long he’d been staring at Arthur’s back, bum and muscled thighs, but he was snapped out of his daze when Arthur looked up and at Merlin through the reflection of the mirror.

Oh shit, thought Merlin.  But what he had really said was, “Um.”

“Sorry,” Arthur said, wiping his mouth.  “Do you need the bathroom?”

“Uh, no,” Merlin had said quietly, stepping into the bathroom doorway so he was in the light.  “I mean, I do, but take your time.”

Arthur shrugged easily and bent over the sink once again to splash his face with water.  Merlin swallowed thickly at the movement.

Arthur gestured to the sink when he was done drying his face, and Merlin went over to pick up his toothbrush.  Arthur, however, didn’t leave; instead he stood nearby in the small space to watch, arms crossed and the fringes of his hair sticking up where he had wet them and then rubbed them with the towel.

Merlin started brushing his teeth and Arthur remarked, “You’re using the upstairs bathroom.”

Merlin, mouth full of tooth paste, could only nod.  Despite trying to be as neat as possible while performing this night time chore, a small bit of foam managed to escape and slide down his chin.  Arthur watched the movement and Merlin felt the hot prickle of blood rushing to his cheeks.

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to Merlin’s again, and he asked, “Why?”

Merlin had to delicately spit and rinse his mouth out before answering.  “I’m going to move into the guestroom,” he answered, face still in the sink.

When he looked at Arthur again, Arthur was watching at him with a strange expression that seemed a mix of scrutiny and mild alarm.  “Why?” he asked again, quietly.

Merlin shrugged, not knowing quite how to explain it.  When he and Morgana had talked about it, it had made perfect sense; and anyway, they weren’t really a couple.  But explaining it to Arthur was harder to do than expected.  “It’s complicated,” Merlin told him.

For a split second Arthur’s mouth twitched upwards in an expression that looked like triumph, but Merlin blinked and it was gone.  Arthur uncrossed his arms, gracefully pushed himself away from the wall and left the room, murmuring a “Goodnight Merlin” as he turned the corner.

Now Merlin was with Arthur and Morgana in the main area of the bar, and Gwen walked past them, carrying a pitcher of beer and six glasses stacked one of top of the other, teetering precariously.  She was concentrating so hard that she would have walked past without noticing them had Morgana not called her name.

“Oh hey,” greeted Gwen.

Arthur stepped forward and gave her a flirtatious look, lids lowered.  “Allow me to help you, my Lady.”

“Bugger off, Backstreet Boy,” Gwen muttered through clenched teeth as she manoeuvred past a drunk man trying to demonstrate an Irish jig to a table of giggling women.  “I can handle these myself.”

The four friends finally managed to get to get to their table at the back, where Tristan, Sol and Sigan were already sitting.  Tristan gave an enthusiastic wave and “Hey guys!” while Sol lowered his eyes to Arthur’s crotch, next to the table where he was standing, and uttered, voice wobbling, “Thighs.”

Introductions were done all round, then they all sat down, Merlin between Sigan and Morgana, and drinks were poured. Merlin winced in anticipation of Sigan’s usual disgusting and deadpan opening comment.  He wasn’t disappointed.

“My dick’s sore,” said Sigan.

Morgana and Arthur gave him simultaneous incredulous looks.  Tristan said, “You should get that checked out.”

“No,” was the flat-toned reply.  “Kid last night sucks too hard.  It’s like sticking it in a vacuum cleaner with top power setting, times one hundred.”  He turned to Merlin, straight black hair falling into one eye.  “Heard you got a girlfriend.  Then blew your load in her.”

Merlin winced again.  “Please stop talking.”

Sigan visibly inhaled through his nose, having taken deep offense by Merlin’s one silly demand.  “So be it -”

“Here Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, passing him his glass, “have a beer.”

“Thanks Arthur,” grabbing it and chugging half of it down in four easy gulps.

Sigan gave Arthur a once-over, managing to look both appreciative and disapproving at the same time.  Conversation turned to other things, such as when Morgana was due and how Sol’s studies were going.  When Arthur went to the bar to get the next round, Sigan said, “He’s gay.”

“Who’s gay?” asked Gwen.

“He means Arthur,” Merlin answered her.  He turned back to Sigan and gave him an amused look.  “You think everyone who’s good looking is gay.”

Sigan looked shifty.  “He could be gay.”

“He’s not gay,” Morgana clarified, “trust me.  The amount of girlfriends he’s had – “

“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Tristan.  “I had at least twenty different girlfriends at school before I was finally honest with myself.  Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Two more rounds of beer (and two more orange juices for Morgana) later, Merlin was feeling good and had somehow moved, ending up between Tristan and Arthur, the latter had his arm draped across the back of Merlin’s chair.

He was listening to Sol and Morgana argue about The Killers being a Placebo rip-off band, when Sol looked up, spotted something above Merlin’s head and went silent.

Merlin turned in his seat to see a girl standing there in a maroon dress with hair long past her shoulders.

“Hello Merlin,” she said, and Merlin’s stomach dropped.

“Hello,” said Merlin then swallowed, and added, stupidly, “I like your hair,” because if he commented on any other feature of her body he would embarrass the both of them.

Merlin turned back to the others to introduce her.  “This is my ex b – ex girlfriend – “

“Freya,” she interrupted quickly, leaning over to shake hands with everyone except Tristan and Sol, who she gave a little wave to.

“Freya,” Tristan greeted, name drawn out long, slow and amused.  Sol tried to hide a smirk behind Tristan’s shoulder.  “How are things?”

“Great, actually,” Freya answered.

“Wow,” said Morgana, polite smile a little tense, “Merlin had a girlfriend.”

Arthur snorted.  “Merlin may be an idiot, Morgana, but he’s not wholly unattractive.”

“Thanks Arthur,” muttered Merlin. “Um, I think.”

Arthur gave Merlin a small smile, affectionate, and pulled his arm from the back of Merlin’s chair.

“I was on my way to the bar,” Freya said shyly, taking Merlin’s attention away.  “So I should probably, you know, go...”

Merlin stood up.  “I’ll come with you.  We can catch up.”

Freya nodded, though she looked a bit reluctant.  After she’d gotten herself a drink, they sat on stools at a bar table.  “So,” Merlin began, eager to ask questions but not knowing how to.  “Your hair...?”

She gave him a coy smile and flicked a few dark locks over her shoulder.  “Do you like it?  I’ve managed to grow it to my shoulders; the rest is hair extensions.”

“Really,” said Merlin.  “And your...?”  He made a gesture with two cupped hands in front of his chest.

She giggled a little.  “Yes Merlin, they are breast implants.  And I’m on hormones too, to make my voice higher and now I don’t have to shave.”  She touched her jaw to emphasise, then grabbed his hand so he could feel her face too.

After a moment of touching the soft skin there, Merlin pulled away and murmured, sincere, “Wow.”  Then he swallowed and asked the final question, “And...?  Have you... done, you know...”  He gestured in the general vicinity of her crotch and she laughed.

“I haven’t had the full operation yet, no,” she answered.

Three years ago, Merlin had first met Frederick aka Frey at a fancy dress party one of Sol’s university friends was hosting.  By the time Merlin had arrived, late, the house was half-way trashed and young adults were running around, shouting nonsense and snogging in corners.  He went to the kitchen to put his beers in the fridge and accidently bumped into a boy wearing a cat suit, mask and of all things, plastic black wings.

“Meow,” said the boy, after Merlin had put his beer away.

“Hi,” said Merlin.  “Are you supposed to be... a cat?”

The boy shook his head.  “A bastet.  It’s a mythical creature that murders people in the night.”

“That’s very, um – “

“Are you supposed to be Merlin?” the boy asked, gesturing at Merlin’s wizard hat and cloak over his shirt and jeans.

“My name is Merlin.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s – “ Merlin dithered.  “It’s my name.  Merlin is my name.”

Several beers and someone’s rum later, Merlin and Frey had ended up in one of the rooms, lying on top of several people’s bags and jackets and kissing each other thoroughly.

Merlin pulled away a bit and gasped for air, hand sliding over Frey’s hip.  “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

After they had been going out for a week, they sat together on Merlin’s bed, naked with the sheets draped over their laps, eating strawberries out of a bowl.  Merlin told Frey honestly, “I feel like with you, I can just be who I am.”

Frey looked in pain, eyes downcast as he fiddled with a piece of the red fruit.  “Merlin, please,” he said, lifting his eyes, “listen to me.  I’m not like you.”

They looked at each other now, in the pub.  Freya sipped her drink.  “I tried to tell you, back then.  You must hate me.”

Merlin shook his head.  “No, I don’t hate you.  We could have stayed together, I wouldn’t have minded.”

She gave him a smile that was two parts sad and one part irritated.  “You don’t want me like this.”

Merlin lifted his eyebrows and looked her in the eye, sincere, and said, “That’s not true.  I loved you the way you were, I would have loved you the way you are now.”

Freya’s gaze drifted across the room, and caught on something.  “Perhaps,” she conceded.  “But I don’t think I could compete with your current beau.  He’s very handsome, if a little jealous.”

Merlin followed her line of sight to the table where his friends were sitting across the room.  None of them were paying attention to Merlin and Freya, all caught up in what seemed to be a heavy debate.  He looked back at her.  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

She sipped her drink while surreptitiously scrutinising the other table from afar.  “The blonde one.  He has been watching us.”

Merlin heart stammered in his chest, the thought of Arthur watching causing his breath to catch in his throat.  He leaned forward, purposely studying her face and not turning his head.  “What is he doing now?”

She gracefully put down her cocktail then touched the stem of the glass.  “He is watching us.”  She looked at Merlin’s face and smiled, defeated.  “He is the saddest man to ever hold a lager.”

When she next looked out at the crowd she sat up straight and waved to someone.  “Looks like my friend Vivian is trying to get my attention.  I better go.”

Merlin turned his head to see a very sexy blonde woman wave at them.  Though if Merlin squinted a little and turned his head to the side – yes, this Vivian person hadn’t always been a woman.  “Huh,” he said.

Freya touched his arm, said goodbye, then melted into the crowd like mist from a lake.

When Merlin went back to his friends, Arthur turned in his seat and waved at him lazily.  “Merlin!  You have returned to the round table.”

“I have,” Merlin agreed, scrutinising Arthur’s face carefully.  Arthur was grinning, eyes happy if a little unfocused from alcohol consumption; Merlin had no idea what Freya had been talking about, calling Arthur sad.

He grabbed Merlin by the arm and pulled him into the seat next to him, then waved a hand loftily around the table.  “Please Merlin, tell these buffoons that Home and Away is better than Neighbours.”

This was met with loud disagreement from all sides.  Merlin said, “Who cares?  I prefer EastEnders, anyway.  I just had a conversation with my ex,” he added, mock-pouting, “so let’s get me drunk.”

. . . .

After Morgana announced that she was tired and went home, Gwen finally admitted that Mario had stood her up.

“That fucking arsehole prick!  Hope he chokes on a frog and DIES.”

“Cheers to that, sister,” toasted Arthur, raising his shot glass, and clinking it against everyone else’s.  “To fucking arsehole pricks!”

“To fucking arsehole pricks!” Merlin, Gwen, Tristan, Sol and Sigan toasted, then downed their vodka.

“Grrr, arrrgh,” spluttered Merlin.  “Tastes like toad paste and sheep’s brain.”

“Rats guts and horse dung,” said Arthur.

“What’s with you and rats?” slurred Merlin.  “Pond scum and crushed sheep’s eyeball.”

“You said a sheep thing already,” Arthur accused, waving a finger in Merlin’s face.

“Fine,” said Merlin.  “Er.  Spiders’ legs.”

“He had a hairy back anyway,” said Gwen miserably, unable to keep up.

“I once – I once – “ Merlin stuttered.  “I had a- a – girlfriend with a hairy back, once.  Doggy-style was very literal.”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed, hand landing heavy on Merlin’s shoulder.  “You had a girlfriend with a hairy back?  Sounds like a record for you.”

Merlin looked at him curiously, tilting his head to the side.  “I don’t get it.”

Arthur waved that finger around again.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice that ex of yours looked like a boy.”

Merlin swallowed thickly and wished for water.  It didn’t magically appear as he had hoped.  “What do you mean?”

Arthur tilted his chin down, looking Merlin right in the eye, close and affectionate.  “I saw the hot blonde girl she was with; she broke up with you to pursue women, didn’t she?”

“Huh?” said Merlin, then: “Oh. Oh!  Yes, yes she’s a lesbian, alright.”

Arthur clapped his hands together, triumphant.  “Can’t hide anything from me, Merlin.”

Conversation with Arthur continued in this way throughout the night.  Merlin was aware, on some level, that they spoke only gibberish that seemed to make more and more sense the more intoxicated they got.  Sigan went to the men’s room and didn’t return, Tristan and Sol sat in the corner and snogged passionately and Gwen went to dance in front of the stage on which the band was playing.  At some point, Merlin saw her getting a drink with a man he didn’t recognise.

“Your cheekbones are really kicking tonight, Merlin,” Arthur told him.  “I really like cheekbones.”

“Oh yeah?” said Merlin, leaning against Arthur’s shoulder and watching the band from their seats.  “I didn’t notice your wife’s.”

“You wouldn’t notice,” Arthur accused, “because you are the king – the king! – of cheekbones.  Nobody could hold a torch to your face.”

“I hope not, I might get burnt.”

Arthur grunted, amused.

Merlin slid his eyes over to his friend.  “But I noticed your cheekbones, Arthur.”

Arthur looked back, his amused smile sliding to unsure.  “You did?”

He nodded.  “They’re very nice.”

They stumbled from the pub as it was closing, Merlin’s arm draped over Arthur’s shoulders and Arthur’s arm warm on Merlin waist, laughing at a joke one of them said but Merlin could not remember which, their friends long forgotten.  They took a taxi home and sang Highway to the Danger Zone as they stumbled through the door.

“Shh shh!” said Arthur.  “We’ll wake up my ice queen sister!”

“Right, right, shh!” said Merlin tripping over his own feet at the foot of the stairs and leaning on Arthur’s chest.  “Dance with me, though. _I went to the danger zone._”

Arthur tried to oblige, putting one hand on Merlin’s hip in a kind of waltz. “_Right into the danger zone._  I don’t know any other words.”

“Okay okay,” said Merlin, lifted up one foot and putting it on a stair.  He tried the next foot then tipped a bit to the side because Arthur had a hold of his arm.  They looked at each other and laughed.

“I’m going to carry you up the stairs,” Arthur announced when going up three steps took half an hour.  He crouched a bit and Merlin got on his back, arms draped around Arthur’s neck as Arthur grunted his way up the stairs.  “God,” said Arthur, with effort, “this is going to hurt in the morning.”

“You’re a lot heavier than you look,” Arthur told him, when they’d gotten to Arthur’s room and he had deposited Merlin on the bed with a_ whump_.  Merlin lay back on the duvet and giggled, sliding his hands up his own shirt, pulling the fabric up.

“I’m much more muscular than people realise,” Merlin told him, voice gone deep.  He tapped his front, fingers touching the skin between his ribs and his belly button.  “See?”

Arthur stood at the foot of the bed and said nothing for a moment, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his fridge made dark by the light from the hallway behind him.  His lips looked a little tight from an indecipherable emotion and Merlin felt very sober suddenly, his own fingers feeling hot and heavy against his bare skin.

“Yes,” murmured Arthur eventually, voice low, “I see.”

Merlin sat up, felt his head spin with the movement and Arthur leaned over him, and helped him pull his shirt over his head.  Merlin sniggered and said, “Bed time now, right?” then leaned over and licked Arthur’s neck.

Arthur froze, breathe held, then abruptly stood up straight.  When Merlin dared look at his face, he found Arthur’s eyes were wide and his cheeks were puffed out a little, fist pressed to his lips.

Arthur turned, strode quickly from the room.

Merlin heard him throwing up in the toilet down the hall.

. . . .

The next morning Merlin awoke early.  He lay still on his back in Arthur’s bed for a moment, then turned his head.

Arthur was sleeping on his side, lips slightly parted and blonde hair falling across his eyes.  He was snoring.

Merlin huffed out a quiet laugh then turned to face him, then reached out and stroked Arthur’s cheek, gently, unable to resist.  Arthur murmured in his sleep and clumsily reached out his hand and touched the skin of Merlin’s shoulder, sighed, then relaxed into deep sleep again.

Merlin got up for work.


	4. The Stuff That Happens When the Truth Comes Out

Morgana invited everyone over for dinner on Sunday evening, so she could practice cooking.  It was only roast chicken – nothing fancy or particularly difficult – but she was practically a princess in Camelot and had never been taught how to cook.  She’d had to learn it all herself from recipe books and cooking shows.

Merlin bounded into the kitchen excitedly just as Morgana was putting the chicken in the oven, and he said, “The boys arrived a few minutes ago, if you didn’t already know.  They’re talking in the lounge.  Are we expecting anyone else?”

Morgana straightened, hands at the small of her back, and turned to see Merlin was wearing his infectious grin, eyes slitted in glee like a purring cat.  She smiled back at him, easily.  “I invited my sister, Morgause.  Apparently she’s back from Australia.”  She paused.  “Or was it Thailand?  Maybe it was Cambodia – I can never keep up with her travels.”

She went to the sink and turned on the tap to rinse some dishes, but Merlin came over and gently pushed her aside, hand warm where it sat on her shoulder.  “Here – let me.”

Morgana let him even though she wouldn’t normally let a man do her a favour just because she was a pregnant woman - but Merlin was such a warm person and she knew he meant well.  He picked up the detergent bottle and pointed it at her.  “I didn’t realise you and Arthur had another sister,” he said.

He was looking at her with eyes so blue... She shook herself and frowned down at her belly.  “Um, not Arthur, just me.  Arthur and I have the same mother; Morgause and I have the same father.”

When she looked up again, Merlin’s eyes were moving back and forth, doing calculations.  “I’m not even sure how that would work,” he murmured slowly.

Morgana snorted out her laughter, then pressed her fingers to his pale wrist in a light touch.  “I need to go sit down – been on my feet too long.  Don’t stay in the kitchen all night, will you.”

He grinned.  “I wouldn’t,” he said.  “I’m the life of the party.”

Arthur and Tristan were in the lounge room talking, sitting on the couch and armchair separate from the others.  Morgana went over and sat next to Arthur on the couch, putting her feet up on the pouffe and sighing in relief.

“I was just telling Arthur about the indoor swimming pool I go to, Morgana,” said Tristan.

Arthur nodded.  “We’re going to do laps on Wednesday afternoon,” he told her.  He turned back to Tristan and said, “I’ve been thinking about joining the gym.”

Morgana pulled a face.  “I thought you were already a member of a gym.  Or did you get banned from it?” she added condescendingly.

Arthur shrugged one shoulder and wouldn’t look her in the eye, even when she lifted herself up a bit from where her shoulders had sunk into the cushions.  “I meant a gym in London.”

She frowned.  “Why would you?  You’re only here for another couple of weeks, aren’t you?”

Arthur looked even shiftier and Tristan seemed uncomfortable, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“_Aren’t you?_” Morgana asked again, irritation growing.

Finally the Pendragon courage made itself known and Arthur turned to her fully and said, “Actually, I was thinking of moving here, with you.”

Morgana pressed her lips hard together, incongruous anger bubbling in her throat as if there were a boiling cauldron in her stomach.  “And your job?” she asked tightly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her current disposition.  “I’ve been working for Father all my life.  I’d like to look for something in the city, expand my horizons.”

Jesus, thought Morgana, he’s serious about this!  She was unsure why she was so angry over the idea of Arthur coming back into her life – she did love him and he was nice and helpful when he wanted to be.  There was a reason, she just– she just-

She just didn’t want to admit it to herself.

“And where are you going to live?” she asked him, voice still tightly controlled.  She felt as if she spoke too loud, the proverbial dam would break and she’d scream.

He waved an arm casually.  “Here of course.  Father owns this house.”

“Yes,” said Morgana, voice rising, “he bought this house for _me_, Arthur, therefore it’s my house!”

“Ok, I’m going to go,” said Tristan abruptly, getting up from his chair and walking away.  She had forgotten he was even there.  The break in conversation helped to calm her down a bit, though.

She said to Arthur, “Look.  I don’t mind you staying here with me, honestly.  But I have reservations about that wife of yours.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped a little and he looked across the room at where Tristan had joined the others.  Then he turned to her and said, quietly, as if imparting a secret, “Sophia got an eight-month contract in Paris.  If you want, I can get another apartment before she gets back.”  He paused, looking down, his mouth a tight, thin line, then said, “That’s if she decides she wants to come with me.”

“Oh,” said Morgana, and took a deep breath through her nose.  She had run out of excuses to tell Arthur to stay out of her life and away from her pretend boyfriend; furthermore, she was finding it harder and harder to fight her thoughts of Merlin with denial.

The fact was, Morgana was starting to notice certain instances involving Arthur and Merlin, and Arthur had only been in London a week.  Sometimes Merlin would get really nervous in Arthur’s presence for no obvious reason, and sometimes Arthur would look at Merlin with a strange longing when Merlin wasn’t looking.  Then there had been Friday night: Morgana had been lying in bed when the men had burst through the front door, drunk, singing nonsense and _giggling_ for fuck’s sake.  They’d gone upstairs and Morgana, listening intently, was pretty damn sure Merlin ended up sleeping in Arthur’s bed.

Morgana had lain awake the next morning, listening to Merlin get up for work, shuffle through the kitchen and the hall, and wondered about Merlin’s request to sleep in the guest room.  It had been her suggestion at the time, because every time she got up to pee in the middle of the night she woke Merlin up with the movement of the mattress.  But he had jumped on the suggestion fast, and she thought that perhaps Merlin wanted to be closer to Arthur.

“Can you help me up?” she asked Arthur.

One moment later, she went back into the kitchen to talk to Merlin.  She stood in front of him and held his hands.

“Do you need me to peel potatoes, or anything?” asked Merlin, eyes restless.  “Just point me in the direction of the potato peeler.  I don’t mean to boast, but I have super potato peeling powers – “

“I’m sure you do, Merlin,” she said, quickly.  “But I need to ask you about us.”

That made him stop and look at her, his bright eyes searching hers, face solemn.

“We like each other, right?” she asked desperately.  “I mean, you think I’m attractive?”

“Yes of course I do,” he told her rapidly.  He gave her a sincere smile.  “Especially these days.  You have a healthy pregnant woman glow.”

She took a deep breath.  “We could be good together, Merlin.”

She saw his brows knit together in confusion.  “What?” he whispered.

“You had that girlfriend,” she said, and saw that Merlin was starting to look a bit like a trapped animal, eyes flicking away from hers.

“Right, yeah,” coughed Merlin.  “That was really complicated, though.”

The doorbell rang and Merlin’s hands flew away from hers as he stepped away.  “Doorbell,” he announced uselessly just Arthur shouted “I’ll get it!” from the next room.

Morgana stepped up to Merlin again and Merlin took another step back, the two of them moving around the small kitchen as if dancing in an armless waltz.  “You could have lovers,” she told him.

“Oh, um - “

“I wouldn’t mind.  And we could get married, and this baby could be yours – “

“You – what?”

“Oh good god, it’s you,” said Arthur, his raised voice easily heard from down the hall and through the closed door.  “Morgana!” he called.  “Your evil twin is here!”

. . . .

Morgana was laid down on her bed, crying, arm thrown over her eyes.  She keened, face wet, then wailed, “I look fat and I sound awful – I’m like, I’m like – a whale wailing!”  She hiccupped and added, “A whale from Wales wailing!”

“You’re not Welsh,” Morgause told her soothingly.

Morgana cried harder.

Morgause was one of a kind.  She was a woman with true freedom who travelled the world, hair swept by the breeze and golden brown eyes that held secrets as old as time.  She had the floaty, unassuming air of someone who knew all truths and told no lies, observing everything and guessing nothing.

She sat next to Morgana on the bed now in a linen tunic and faded blue jeans that looked as if they had once had flowers printed on them.

“He doesn’t love meeee!” Morgana howled.

“I’m sure he does,” said Morgause.  “Couples argue all the time.”  She paused.  “Well, at least that’s what I’ve been told.  I wouldn’t know; I’ve never let a man tie me down.”

Morgana sniffled, wiped her eyes and looked up at her sister.  “How was – where ever you were?”

Morgause’s expression didn’t change, though that wasn’t surprising: her expression never changed.  She said wistfully, “I rode a camel across the desert, spoke to the natives and climbed Uluru.”

Morgause looked down at Morgana’s pregnant belly and rubbed the mound without hesitation.  “The child and I shall rule the world.”

“Pardon?” said Morgana.

“Uh, I mean: when the boy is older I’ll take him travelling.”

Morgana smiled, then frowned.  “How did you know it was a boy?”

Morgause stared right into her eyes unflinchingly and told her breathily, “I just knew.”

A pause.

“Actually, you mentioned it in your e-mail.”

. . . .

Merlin stood on the edge of the swimming pool and watched Arthur do the butterfly, up and down, up and down, water sluicing off his back on every up stroke.  Merlin dropped to sit on the edge, legs dangling in the water.

Arthur swam up to him and stopped, treading water, hair and face wet.  “Hey,” he greeted, breathless from the exercise.

Merlin gave him a curt nod.  “Where’s Tristan?”

Arthur moved around restlessly in the water.  “Went home early,” he answered grimly, then smirked.  “I don’t think Sol was happy about him coming here with me alone.”

Merlin quietly thought Sol had a good point.  Arthur said, “Thanks for coming to pick me up.  I know you’re probably tired from work.”

“Oh no, it’s no trouble,” Merlin told him.  “And I’m not tired, honestly.”

He got a disbelieving look for that.  “Aren’t you going to come in?” Arthur taunted.

Merlin had actually gotten changed for swimming, thinking he may need to entertain himself while waiting for Arthur and Tristan to finish bonding or whatever.  He took a deep breath and dropped straight in, feet touching the bottom before being buoyed up to the surface by the air in his lungs.  When he emerged, Arthur was chuckling to himself, then did a back-flip in the water.

“Show-off,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur re-emerged, pushed his wet hair from his face and stared at Merlin with an intense expression.  He swam over and Merlin felt his breathing become difficult as Arthur crowded in closer, hand on the ledge above Merlin’s ear.

“I need to ask you something,” said Arthur, deadly serious.

“Okay,” Merlin whispered, trying not to think about how close their faces were.

Arthur studied him for a moment before his eyes slid away, mouth twisting with uncertainty.

“Friday night,” began Arthur slowly, still not looking Merlin in the eye, “what happened?”

Merlin frowned in confusion.

Arthur looked at him and cleared his throat.  “Between us,” he clarified.

Merlin was still confused.  “What do you mean?”

Arthur sighed with impatience, his fingers tapping on the ledge.  “I _mean_, Merlin, we were really drunk, and we slept together – I mean, in the same bed - !”  Arthur blushed.  “Did anything _happen?_”

“No,” said Merlin and Arthur visibly relaxed, letting his hand drop down from the ledge and splash into the water.

“Except – “ said Merlin and Arthur gave him an alarmed look.  “Er...”  Merlin forced himself to continue: “You may have taken off my shirt and I may have licked your neck.”

Arthur slapped his hands to his own face and rubbed his eyes, letting out a little huff of laughter.  “Really.”

“Yeah,” said Merlin, laughing now.  “It was pretty funny, actually.  You must have really hated it because afterwards you ran to the bathroom and threw up.”

Arthur pulled his hands away and his expression showed self-depreciation.  “Sorry.”

Merlin shrugged.  “It’s alright.”

. . . .

“And this,” Merlin showed Arthur a few days later, gesticulating like a girl presenting prizes for The Price is Right, “is a _oritho_ – _rhynchus_, er, _anatinus_.”

“Is it really,” Arthur murmured lowly, smirking, hands in his pockets, “because it looks suspiciously like a platypus to me.”

Merlin and Arthur laughed low chuckles, heads bent towards each other so as to mask their mirth and not draw attention to the fact that Merlin was meant to be working and was, in fact, slacking off.

“Yes,” said Merlin, “but!  But but that word I used is the scientific word – “

“Ohhh,” said Arthur, nodded like he didn’t already know.

“ – and I was using it to make myself sound smarter.”

Merlin was still giggling and Arthur rolled his eyes, trying and failing to keep a straight face.  “So in other words,” Arthur summarised, still murmuring low as if sharing a secret, “you were trying to impress me.”

Merlin stopped laughing.

He looked at Arthur carefully and Arthur’s smirk slipped away slowly as he studied Merlin, eyes staring right back.

“Yeah, maybe,” Merlin murmured eventually, daring yet shy.

Arthur watched him for a beat then looked away loftily.  “Well,” he said, “it’s a wasted effort, Merlin; I will never be impressed by you.”

Merlin punched him lightly in the arm as they started walking slowly past more exhibits.  “You’re an arse, Arthur.”

Arthur scoffed.  “I’m gorgeous and rich,” he countered.

“You’re overcompensating for you penis, which is small.”

“I’ll have you know, Merlin, that my penis – “ here he elaborated with a wide hand-smoothing motion – “is long, pink, and beautiful.”

Merlin laughed, still feeling hot in the face.  “You’re overcompensating and you’re in the closet.”

At this Arthur looked at him sharply, but only for a second, then he smirked again.  “You’re a gigantic girl.  You’re such a girl, even your ex-girlfriend looks manlier than you.”

Merlin turned his face away to hide his secret smile.  “Yeah, that’s me,” said Merlin, faux resigned, because it was better than saying touché, “a gigantic girl.”

“Well, they do say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”  He stopped walking and spun in a smooth circle on the heel of one expensive shoe, looking all around the room, pensive.  “Let’s look at some more platypuses, or some such.”

Merlin twisted his mouth in indecision.  “I think it’s _platypi._”

“_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you very very muh uh uh uh uuuch!_” sang Arthur’s ring tone to the airy tones of Lily Allen.  Arthur threw Merlin a secret amused smile and told him, before answering his phone, “Morgana has her own ring tone.”

. . . .

Morgana first started noticing – _really_ started noticing – when Merlin brought Arthur back from the swimming pool that day.  The two men had walked through the front door but hadn’t noticed her standing there, waiting for them, as they were too caught up in each other’s – eyes – and – _laughing_ –

“Ahem!” Morgana cleared her throat as Arthur closed the door and they walked right past her is if she didn’t fucking bloody exist, the fucking bloody bastaaarrds!  Merlin jumped a little and they looked over their shoulders, Merlin guilty-looking and Arthur’s eyebrow raised in mild enquiry, as if _Morgana_ was the one acting strange.  His ring-adorned hand slipped from Merlin’s shoulder as he turned; Morgana watched the offending hand drift slowly from the dark of Merlin’s coat to Arthur’s side.

She went to cross her arms over her chest in order to look more disapproving, and found that her boobs had grown too big, so she gave that up quickly.

Then Arthur screwed up his face and said, “What’s for dinner, Morgana?  I’m starving.”

She narrowed her eyes.  “Why don’t you get your phone,” she hissed lowly, “order yourself some pizza, then get said phone and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ARSE!”

She stormed off in a huff.

Not her finest moment.  And looking back and playing it over and over in her head, she realised that it was all probably very innocuous.  After all, Arthur had always been a touchy-feeling person compared to the rest of the family, and it was only a hand on Merlin’s shoulder - nothing incriminating – and Arthur did that kind of thing with male friends all the time, which maybe said something, actually –

And then there was this other time, when Merlin said he’d cook.  He was in the kitchen and flittering about the stove, fridge and cupboard, opening doors and putting ingredients into the pot, nattering about butterflies, or something.  And there was Arthur, leaning against the bench cross-armed and nonchalant, and he was like the opposite of Merlin: quiet, still and watchful.  His eyes held Merlin’s when Merlin was talking to his face, and then slid right down to his arse when he turned around to rummage through another cupboard.

Neither of them noticed she had entered the room.

Eventually, when Arthur’s eyes had slid over Merlin’s body a total of seven times (Morgana had been counting) his eyes finally slid over to hers, widened a little in surprise to see her standing there, then moved away to the far wall.  He made no other move.

(The moment was further broken three seconds later when Merlin noticed her and said, “Oh Morgana!  Didn’t see you there!  Are you not allowed to have any chilli?  Or can you at least have a little, if I cook it in?”)

There were a few of those instances: mainly the eye-sex (Gwen’s words, not Morgana’s) and the occasional pat on the shoulder.  Arthur had even done the yawn-and-put-arm-on-back-of-Merlin’s-chair move while watching a movie.  Frankly, Morgana had had enough.

So one day while at work she sat at her desk in her glass office and thought about shouting at Arthur: GO HOME!  She picked up her mobile phone, felt like going to the toilet, so she put it back down again and went to pee.

Then she came back, sat down and stared at the small, black piece of machinery some more.

Steve walked past and stuck his head in.  He gave her chin-wobbly smirk, and drawled, “Working hard, Morgana?”

“Oh yes,” she answered, long and sarcastic.  She stuck out her hands and started jamming her fingers on the computer keyboard, as if pretending to play the piano, badly.  “I’m just typing something important on my com-pu-ter, _beep beep beep beep – _“

Steve grimaced at her bad joke and pulled his fat head from her office door and moved on, leaving Morgana to slump back into her chair and stare at her phone again.  Then she picked it up and phoned Arthur.

The first thing she heard when she connected was Merlin’s laughter in the background and she had a sudden panic attack, thinking, _Oh my god, isn’t Merlin supposed to be at work?_

“Arthur!” she yelled.

“Morgana?” he enquired.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.  “Why is Merlin with you?”

“Morgana -”

“Why are the two of you together?  Have you no shame?  Do you think of no one but yourself?”

“Morgana -”

“I knew you were many things, Arthur Pendragon, but I didn’t know you were a gutless boyfriend stealer!”

“_Morgana!”_

There was a pause.  Then Arthur said, “Perhaps if you would stop shouting at me for _one second_ you could guess that I am merely visiting Merlin at work, because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”  He took a deep breath.  “I thought you would be happy I’m making an effort.”

Morgana stabbed down her guilt with an invisible blade and said, deep and clear, “Stop flirting with my boyfriend.”

For a moment Arthur said nothing and Morgana listened carefully for any tell-tale sound – and there it was: a small sigh.

“No,” said Arthur eventually, “I don’t think I will,” and hung up.

. . . .

For the next two hours Merlin had school tour groups, and couldn’t hang out with Arthur as much, but still the other man hung around, standing behind the groups of uniformed children and listening to Merlin’s lectures.

He was telling the students interesting facts about the Cretaceous period when some kid put his hand up.  “Sir!”

“Yes?” said Merlin.  “Do you have question?”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy, fiddling with his back-pack straps.  “If T-Rex had a fight with Superman, who would win?”

“That’s a stupid question,” said another boy.  “Obviously T-Rex would win.”

“Er,” said Merlin.  He looked over the group to see Arthur with a fist pressed to his mouth, shoulders shaking as he attempted to suppress his laughter.

“Superman would win, obviously,” said another boy, “because he’s smarter and has super-strength –“

“Well that was very entertaining,” Arthur commented later, as he walked with Merlin back to the staff room so he could pick up his things and finally go home.

“Yeah,” Merlin murmured in complete agreement.  They entered the staff area and he opened his locker, pulled out his phone, and stared at it.

Arthur looked over and saw his face.  “What is it?”

“I have ten missed calls from Morgana,” Merlin answered in disbelief, “and twenty-six from Gwen.”

Arthur hastily pulled his own phone from his pocket and searched through his missed calls.  “So do I.  I put my phone on silent after Morgana had called me earlier... I didn’t know...”

They looked at each other.  Merlin shook his head slowly then phoned Morgana.  When she didn’t answer, he phoned Gwen.

She picked up immediately.  “Merlin!”  She sounded very relieved, then she added quickly, “I’ve been trying to call you, Morgana went to hospital – “

. . . .

Merlin and Arthur ran down the hospital corridors at full speed, almost crashing into nurses, doctors and patients on the way, Merlin almost tripping over twice; and he would have too, if Arthur didn’t have such a strong grip on his arm.  The reception area on the first floor had told them to go to the reception area on the third floor, and the hospital was so big and it was such a maze.

They finally made it, slamming into the reception desk, huffing and puffing.  A middle-aged nurse glared up at them over a pair of spectacles.

“I – “ Merlin huffed, “we – Morgana – “

“Le Fay,” Arthur puffed, “pregnant – only six months – “

“Hmm-mm,” said the nurse, unimpressed.  “Are you family?”

“Father,” Merlin managed.

“Brother,” said Arthur, with effort.

She gave them a long look, then said, “Wait over there,” and pointed to some seats.

They sat down and Merlin put his head between his knees and tried to catch his breath, but it was as if his breath had run away or he had left it in the car because he wasn’t getting any air.  He sat up gripped his own throat, wheezing, eyes watering.

Arthur looked at him.  “Oh Jesus,” he said, and smooth a hand up and down Merlin’s back.  “Breathe, Merlin.”

“Can’t,” Merlin gasped out, vision going black around the edges.

“Bugger,” Arthur muttered, “alright, here.  Get up; we’re going for a walk.”

He led Merlin to the nearest store room and pulled him inside and closed the door.  He gripped Merlin’s shoulders and leaned forward, trying to catch Merlin’s eyes.  “We’re alone now, no one’s around.  Just breathe, slowly.  Deep breath... in....”

Merlin tried, one breath at a time.  He glanced to the side and saw unused yellow containers for disposing used needles, and extra bandages on the shelf below them.

“...out...” continued Arthur.  “That’s it.  Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah,” whispered Merlin, when he could.  One of Arthur’s hands moved from Merlin’s shoulder to his neck and Merlin leaned forward to rest his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur inhaled sharply.  “What are you doing?”

“Thought you were going for a hug,” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s jacket.

“No – oh, fuck it.”  Arthur hugged him back, arms slipping around Merlin’s neck and shoulders, and Merlin pushed in closer until Arthur’s back was against the door.  Merlin moved his face to Arthur’s neck and inhaled, and Arthur made a small movement, like a shiver, and that was the moment – that small acceptance, which changed _everything_.  And Merlin had the confidence now to slide his hands under Arthur’s jacket and up his sides, eyelashes brushing Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur moved, just a little, soft mouth sliding down Merlin’s jaw and to his mouth.  Merlin kissed back instantly, eyes shut tight, pushing forward, and Arthur made a small, deep noise in the back of his throat which sent Merlin’s stomach dropping to his feet.  Arthur pushed his fingers through Merlin’s hair and pressed his thumb gently to the spot just below his ear – and wow, did that feel good – but it was nothing compared to the movement of Arthur’s lips on his like a caress -

The door Arthur was leaning against flew open and they almost tumbled through the doorway, had Merlin not managed to keep a grip on Arthur’s jumper to pull him upright again.  The cranky nurse from earlier glared at them, hand still on the doorhandle.  “What are you two doing in here?” she grumped.

Arthur and Merlin slowly pulled their arms from around each other and cleared their throats.

“You can go see Ms Le Fay, now, Room 18,” she told them, glaring, and waited for them to step out of the room before she closed the door tightly.  Then she marched off.

Then Gwen rounded the corner and spotted them, paper coffee cup held in one hand.  “_There_ you two are!”  She walked quickly over.  “I was wondering when you’d get here.”  She stopped in front of them and stared at Merlin.  “What’s wrong with your hair?  It looks as if you just got out of bed!  And what is wrong with you two?  You both look funny.”

Merlin couldn’t even look at Arthur, and he suspected Arthur was the same.  He smoothed down his hair and told Gwen, shakily, “We can go see Morgana now.”

“Oh good,” Gwen sighed, relieved, then turned and walked down the corridor, leading them even though she probably didn’t know where she was going.

They entered the private suite, to find Morgana propped up by many pillows, hands smoothing down the sheets.  Gwen made a soft, crooning noise and gave Morgana a hug.

“It’s nothing to panic about,” Morgana told them, aloof, though there was a quiver in her chin that told Merlin she had been just as scared as he had.  “The doctor said it was just a bladder infection, and I have to vacate the room within an hour.”

Arthur exhaled in relief and Merlin turned to look at him: he looked pale and unhappy.  “Thank god,” said Arthur.  “Morgana – I thought maybe – karma was punishing me.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow.  “Who?”

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur, stiff and abrupt.  Morgana raised her chin.  “The way I spoke to you on the phone earlier – it wasn’t my place to say what I said.”

Merlin stared at Arthur, scrutinising and trying to decipher the coded message Arthur was sending to his sister.  But he couldn’t pick it up.  “You should be sorry, Arthur,” said Morgana coldly, and Merlin looked at her hard eyes and the set of her chin.  _What is going on?_

Then Morgana turned to Merlin and her eyes softened.  “I’m sorry too, Merlin.  These past few days – “

He quickly waved her apology away.  “No, it’s okay.”  He smiled at her, then awkwardly came to the side of the bed and gave her a kiss on her forehead.  “I know you haven’t been yourself, lately,” he told her, soft and affectionate.  She gave him a watery smile in turn, grabbed his wrist and spoke to Arthur once again in that cold tone: “Do you take back what you said earlier?”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to Merlin for a split second before resting on Morgana’s once more.  “Yes,” he said.

Back home, Merlin helped Morgana into bed.  On request he fetched a glass and a full jug of water for her bedside table, and a book from the lounge room.  Afterwards he found Arthur in the kitchen, standing cold and alone and staring at the tea kettle.

“Hey,” Merlin called softly, when it became obvious Arthur wasn’t going to move.

Arthur lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, then back down at the tea kettle, then he turned and faced Merlin properly.

“Merlin,” Arthur began, and Merlin knew that now was a quiet moment often seen at the end of most things; the breaking of his heart with the tea kettle and the microwave as witnesses.

“What happened while we were in the hospital,” said Arthur slowly, regret written all over his face, “I’m afraid it can’t happen again.”

And there it was.  A statement so fine it was like red silk: soft against Merlin’s neck and choking when pulled tight.  “Right,” said Merlin, chin dipping down in a small nod, “yeah.  That... makes sense.”

Arthur seemed to move forward just a little, as if to kiss him again, but then he rocked back and moved away.  “I’ll go see if Morgana needs anything,” he said as he left the room.

There was a strange feeling in his chest at the mention of her name; and it wasn’t hate, exactly, it was probably more like regret.  He knew that the situation involved Morgana’s misplaced jealousy in some part of it, but he found he could not blame her for this.  After all, it wasn’t her fault he felt this way towards Arthur, and what difference did it make if Morgana liked Merlin liking Arthur or not, when Arthur was married anyway.  Merlin, in the way he always made situations seem smaller in his own mind, thought about the kiss with Arthur and also thought, that even though it was possibly the best kiss he had ever had, it wasn’t like there had been tongues involved, so it was more like a peck, really.

No big deal.

He told himself these three words whenever he and Arthur were in the same room together, over the next few days.  Generally they found ways to not be in the same room together alone, because that would just be emotional suicide; but if Morgana, or sometimes Gwen, were around it was easier to stand Arthur’s golden, manly presence.

Naturally Morgana and Gwen weren’t stupid – they knew something was wrong between them, possible because Arthur and Merlin never looked at each other, let alone talked.  Merlin became skilled at watching Arthur’s profile while Arthur was looking away, and then he’d move his head to see Gwen giving Merlin curious looks.

And if they did find themselves in the room alone together, Arthur always left to get changed into his tracksuit, and off he’d go out the door for a long jog.

. . . .

Merlin couldn’t find his damn shirt.

He had just gotten out of the shower and was shirtless – because he really wanted his shirt, it was a Ben Sherman and the black had never faded despite the amount of washes it had been through – and it was cold even with the central heating on.  As he stared at the contents of his wardrobe, the water from his hair dripped down his back.  Ugh! he thought, then: Wait, when did I have it last?  That time I went to the pub for Gwen’s birthday, and then Arthur carried me up the stairs and...

Oh.

He stuck his head out of his room and looked around: no one home.  He pulled on a white shirt then made his way over to Arthur’s room and stuck his head in there as well.

It was neat and tidy and smelt faintly of Arthur’s aftershave.  Merlin told himself he wouldn’t be long, Arthur would never know, besides he was only in here to look for his shirt.  He went over to the wardrobe and opened it.

Arthur had expensive taste – brand name shirts, jackets and trousers hanging neatly, well-ironed.  He also seemed to own about twenty pairs of shoes.  Haha, Merlin laughed to himself, what a girl.

“Ahem,” Arthur fake-coughed, from behind.  Merlin spun around.  Arthur was standing in the open doorway, frowning.  “What are you doing?”

“Ahhh, I - I was just...” Merlin stammered.  “I was looking for my shirt.  You know, the black one.  Have you seen it?”

Arthur shifted to the other foot and focused on the wardrobe.  “No,” he said.

“Oh well,” said Merlin, with a small, hysterical laugh, “I’ll just be going then.”  He took a step forward.

“Wait,” said Arthur, holding up a hand.  He looked resigned.  “You can check the wardrobe properly, if you want.  Maybe I accidently put it in my laundry and then hung it up.”

“Right, okay... thanks.”  Merlin slowly turned back around and went back to what he had been doing without any real focus.  He heard Arthur step quietly into the room and shut the door, and Merlin was suddenly slaughtered with an image of Arthur maybe coming up behind him and slipping his arms around Merlin’s waist, then of Arthur kissing his neck, and Merlin would moan.  And then Merlin thought about what it would be like to see Arthur’s face sweaty, his hair sticking up, and panting, because he was having such great sex with Merlin.

But Arthur only stepped up beside him and watched Merlin as he flicked through the clothes on the hangers.  When he got to the end, he stopped and turned to Arthur proper, and shrugged.  “Not there,” he said.

“Yeah,” Arthur whispered, not looking at all surprised.  Then he grabbed Merlin by his shirt collar, pushed him backwards into the walk-in wardrobe, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Merlin kissed back even harder, and this time there _was_ tongue; Arthur’s sliding in smooth and enthusiastic and wet, Merlin’s hands pushing into Arthur’s soft hair and Arthur groaning into his mouth.  Merlin tripped backwards a bit on a pair of shoes that were out of their box, and ended up leaning on a bunch of hung shirts, the coat hangers groaning under his weight.  So then Arthur shifted him away, mouth still working over Merlin’s like he wanted to devour him and then some, and then _Arthur_ was leaning on a bunch of shirts –

Arthur mumbled something against Merlin’s mouth that sounded suspiciously like “I love you” and Merlin pulled his mouth away and stared at Arthur in alarm.

“What?” croaked Merlin.

“What,” Arthur mumbled, bleary-eyed and hair sticking up every-which-way.  “What is it?”

“I thought you said something.”

“No,” he murmured, and leaned in for more kisses, which Merlin gave without hesitation.  Arthur, who was obviously a grabby, pushy person, pulled them out of the wardrobe and over to the bed, and tumbled them onto it, Merlin on top and between Arthur’s legs and Arthur’s hands slipped from Merlin’s lower back to the curves of his arse –

“_IS THIS BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAAAAAAME!!!_” sang Arthur’s ring tone from the mobile on the bedside table.  Merlin leaned up on his elbows and Arthur lifted his own head a little; they stared at the thing.

Merlin sat back properly when Arthur leaned over and answered it with a polite, “Sophia.

“Yes, I – how are you?  Good.  No, I’m not in Camelot.  I’m in London.  Because I just am.  Because Morgana lives in London.  There’s nothing wrong with me - “

Merlin left the room.

He leaned against the railing of the stairs, arms crossed.  Five minutes later Arthur came out of his room, strode over to Merlin, palmed his cheek and kissed him once.  He leant his forehead against Merlin’s and breathed harshly; they didn’t quite look at each other, eyes half-closed, more feeling, than seeing.  Arthur said, “Sophia’s back from Paris early.  She just arrived in Camelot.”

“Right,” Merlin exhaled.

“I know – “ Arthur started, voice low and gruff with emotion.  “I know that I’m married and that I’m cheating on her.  And I know that you are my sister’s partner and you’re going – that you’re going to have a baby – “

Arthur’s voice caught on the word and Merlin groaned in pain.  “Oh god,” he whispered.

“I have always been considerate of Morgana’s feelings,” Arthur continued, “but right now,” – he brushed a kiss against Merlin’s unmoving lips – “I want to be really, really selfish.”

“I have to tell you something,” Merlin blurted out abruptly, then pushed on, knowing he needed to get this out now before he lost his nerve.  “Morgana’s not my girlfriend.”

There were these moments in movies, where the main character said something stupid and the beautiful music broke, and there was this sound like a record being scratched.  This was one of those moments.

Arthur pulled back almost inhumanly fast.  “What?” he growled.

Merlin tried to look him in the eye and failed.  “And I’m not the father.”

Arthur barked out a short, humourless laugh.  “_What?_”

“I met Morgana about two days before your wedding,” Merlin ploughed on.  “She paid me money to pretend to be her boyfriend.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to leave, going back into his bedroom and slamming the door, hard.  Merlin went after him and tapped softly on the door.  “Arthur,” he called, “Arthur.”

“Fuck off, Merlin!”

“I’m really sorry, Arthur – “

“You should be fucking sorry, you prick.  Now FUCK OFF!  No wait – tell me this, did you have a good laugh?”

Merlin stared at the door.  “A laugh – pardon?”

“Who else knew?” Arthur demanded, voice muffled by the closed door but no less harsh.

“Um,” dithered Merlin, “Gwen.  And er, Tristan, and Sol... and...”

“In other words: everyone!  You _lied to me_ and then told everyone and then kept up the pretence for months!”

Merlin winced.  “Well not everyone knew.  Morgause didn’t know!”

Arthur scoffed.  “Oh _Morgause_ didn’t know.  Of course Morgause didn’t fucking know, Morgana would be really stupid if she told that psychopath – Morgause hates my family; as soon as she found out she would have phoned my father and told him just to hurt his feelings – “

“Oh,” said Merlin, “I thought Morgana and Morgause were close.”

“Of course they’re _close_, Merlin, but even Morgana knows Morgause uses the truth like a weapon.  That’s beside the POINT.  You lied to me!  Is Merlin even your real name?”

“Yes – “

“You should have told me.”

“Well to be honest Arthur,” Merlin quickly pointed out, “I didn’t really like you the first time we met – “

That was the wrong thing to say.  Arthur made a loud, strange, growling noise and threw something at the door with a thump and the door shuddered on its hinges.  “Merlin.”

“Yes Arthur?”

“FUCK.  OFF!”

. . . .

Morgana met up with Gwen after work for a quick cuppa.  Gwen ended up coming back with her.  They were talking about the new Sex and the City movie as Morgana pushed through the front door, then she trailed off when she saw Merlin sitting, dejected, on the stairs, elbows on his knees and mobile phone held loose in his hands.  He looked up as they came in.

“Arthur has locked himself in his room,” Merlin told them as Gwen quietly closed the door.  “It’s been almost two hours – I think he’s packing, or sulking, or both.”  He let out a small, sad laugh and lowered his chin, staring at his phone.  “I told him, Morgana; sorry.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Morgana decided, pulling off her coat.  As she was heading up the stairs she heard Gwen say to Merlin, “C’mon, let’s go to the lounge and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea...”

Morgana knocked on Arthur’s door.

“For god’s sake Merlin, how many times - !”

“It’s me,” she interrupted, and there was a pause and a shuffle before Arthur pulled the door open.  He glared at her for a second before walking back into the room and leaving the door open, which she assumed was invitation enough.  She closed the door behind her, and stood watching as Arthur folded some jumpers to put into his half-full suitcase, which was on the bed.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Arthur.”

He glanced at her, blue eyes making a swift move below his blonde fringe.  He didn’t say anything for a long time.

Then he said, tiredly, as if all the anger he had in him was out and gone, “I would have understood, you know.”

Morgana didn’t say anything.  She didn’t want to say, Yes, I know, because that would have been a lie and she was done with lying.  He must have caught her disbelieving look because he gave her one back.

“Morgana, you haven’t been around.  I hadn’t seen you for – “ he cast his eyes around the room, half pensive, half incredulous, “ – for three years.  You think that my father and I, and others in Camelot, are all a bunch of rich, upper-class snobs who would disown you if you were found pregnant out of wedlock.

“Well you are wrong, especially if you think that of me.  I know Father can be difficult and old-fashioned; I mean, even my great courage deserts me when I need to confront him.  But even he’s not so bad to talk to, and he has always cared about you – “

Morgana snorted.

“He has, Morgana, always.”  He pushed his suitcase over to the other side of the bed, then sat down.  He patted the spot next to him and Morgana moved closer to him, but she didn’t sit.  Arthur gave her an exasperated look.

He slumped a little and rubbed his eyes with thumb and index finger.  “You do have balls, I’ll give you that.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow when he looked up at her.

“When you came to my wedding, and I saw you were pregnant, I thought, ‘Wow, she is so brave.’  I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been in your situation; probably not come at all.”

“I almost didn’t,” she whispered.

“And not only that, but there you were, with Merlin.”  Arthur looked to the side with a far-away look in his eyes, smiling softly, and Morgana stared.  She was curious of this soft look, and felt a sharp twist of jealousy.  It was just like one time when she had met Gwen and Merlin at the movies, and they were laughing together as she approached, and when she asked them what was so funny they waved her off and said, “Never mind, you had to be there.”

_Morgana, you haven’t been around.  I hadn’t seen you for three years._  Arthur had said those words, and they cut deeply.  Her love for her half-brother had never faded, but regardless their friendship obviously had, and now they had very little in common, and Morgana hardly knew him.

It made her feel so sad.

She touched his soft, blonde hair and he blinked out of his reverie.  He leaned forward and stared at her imploringly.  “Do you know what it’s like,” he began, low and urgent, “to plan to marry someone, and then the day before you’re due to marry them, you meet someone else.  To know, instantly, that he’s the one.”

Morgana slowly pulled her hand back and stared at him with wide eyes.  “Arthur...”

“I can’t even begin to explain how it feels.”

She blinked at him several times, then asked, slowly, because she needed to make this absolutely clear, to herself mostly, “Arthur, are you saying you’re – you’re _gay_?”

Arthur nodded slowly, eyes intense.

“Since when?  Since Merlin?”

Arthur scoffed.  “No, of course not.”  The imperious look was back.  “Remember Valiant, from school?”

She shook her head.  “Vaguely.”

“He fancied this girl in our class, and I lied and said I fancied a girl too.  So he and I used to practice kissing behind the gym.”

Morgana made strange, gasping noises in surprise.

“Then he finally asked her out and she said yes.  I cried non-stop for three days.  My eyes and nose were running so hard Father thought I had the flu and kept me at home.”

“Huh,” said Morgana.

“And of course there was Lancelot,” said Arthur matter-of-factly, as if she should know this.  “I kissed him when I was drunk - or pretending to be, anyway – on four separate occasions.  He’s a good friend; he always takes it in stride and never freaks out.”

Morgana decided she was going to sit down, after all.  She lowered herself down carefully on the bed.  “Why’d you marry Sophia, then?”

He shrugged.  “We had been going out for a year; figured I’d better make it official.”

And wasn’t that just like Arthur: he couldn’t just date or have the occasional one night stand; he had to love someone all the way, or not at all.  She gave his almost-packed suitcase a cursory look.  “So now that’s all out in the open, are you still going to leave?”

His mouth twisted; he was apologetic.  “I already called my father; a driver would be well on his way by now.”

“And Merlin?”

His mouth twisted again.  “I shouted at him a lot.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you if say sorry very, very nicely.”

“Yes, maybe.”

As they started making their way down the stairs, the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be for me,” said Arthur, stepping down the stairs hastily.  He got to the front door and yanked it open, then froze.

A tall man with auburn hair was at the door, glaring.  Arthur barked, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Will,” said Will self-importantly; “Merlin’s best friend.  Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Arthur,” drawled Arthur; “Merlin’s b – Merlin’s friend as well.”

Will muttered something about Merlin having the worst taste, then said louder, “Let me in, you idiot,” and pushed past Arthur then through the door to the lounge room.

Morgana and Arthur followed, Morgana keeping one eye on Arthur’s jealous, glowering look, which got especially darker when Will gave Merlin a hug hello.  Will was just being introduced to the rest of them when the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” said Morgana.

“No, it’ll be for me,” said Arthur, obviously sad to leave but trying to hide it.  “I’ll get it.”

“_No_,” said Gwen, chin lifted, “_I’ll_ get it.  You four - “ she waved at them with a no-nonsense finger “ – get to know each other.”

Gwen went into the hall and Morgana walked across the room and sat down in the armchair.  It had cushions and was squishy and was very comfortable; she decided she wasn’t going to move.

There was an awkward silence as Arthur continued to glare at Will with his arms crossed, and then everyone seemed to simultaneously realise that twenty seconds had gone past and there had been no noise from the front door.

With a sad sigh at the fact that she had to get up again, Morgana pushed herself up and went into the hall with everyone else.

Gwen was standing stock still, hand still on the open door, staring at –

“Lancelot?” said Arthur disbelievingly.  Lancelot dragged his eyes away from Gwen and looked at Arthur standing behind her.

“Arthur.”  He nodded at him in greeting, then went back to staring at Gwen, heavy lidded and intense.

Ooookay, thought Morgana.

Arthur blinked at him some more, then demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Lancelot didn’t answer because Uther and Sophia were suddenly in the doorway too, though they were mostly blocked by Lancelot, who was both tall and broad-shouldered.  “Morgana, Arthur,” said Uther in greeting.

“Father,” said Arthur, voice wavering a bit, “Sophia.”

“Arthur,” greeted Sophia, mouth twisted in a posh cat’s bum look.

“Uther, Sophia,” said Morgana.

“Er, hi,” said Merlin.

“Lancelot,” Uther barked, “move out of the way.”  He pushed past and took off his scarf, gloves and coat, dumping them on Gwen as if she were a serving girl.  “You.”  He pointed at Merlin.  “Bring me a cup of tea.”

Merlin must have been really dumb-founded by the whole scene, because he actually complied; slowly turning on the spot to go to the kitchen.  Morgana grabbed his arm to stop him and at the same time announced, to the room at large, “No one’s having any tea until we’re all in the lounge.  I have – “ she cleared her throat – “I have something to tell you.”

. . . .

Gwen, Lancelot, Merlin, Arthur, Uther, Sophia, Will.

That was the order, left to right, everyone was standing in.  Morgana was back to sitting in her big comfy chair again, and everyone else was standing in a semi-circle around her, glaring or staring down at her.  From this vantage point she could see up everyone’s nostrils.

“There’s obviously been something going on,” said Uther, looking between Morgana and Arthur.

“Yes, exactly!” Sophia piped up.

“Uther,” began Morgana, chin lifted, “Merlin is not the father of my baby.”

Everyone turned to look at Merlin, then back to Morgana.  “So who is?” Uther gritted out, though there was a softness there that surprised Morgana.  He pointed at Will, rudely.  “Him?”

“I don’t know who the father is,” Morgana told him.  “I slept with someone and I can’t remember his name, or his face.”

Sophia tittered.  Gwen leant over and patted Morgana on her knee.

Uther’s face did this strange thing where it twitched a bit, and he blinked rapidly.  “Well...” He hesitated; everyone watched.  “Thank you for your honesty.”

Morgana blinked at him.  “That’s it?”

“And what would you have me do?” said Uther, looking a tad tired and worn-out.  “Send you to your room?”

“Father,” said Arthur, taking Uther’s attention away.  “I too have something to confess.”

Uther rubbed his eyes with index finger and thumb; perhaps he really did need that cup of tea.  “What is it, Arthur?  Are you pregnant too?”

“No, Father,” answered Arthur.  “I’m gay.”

Uther’s and Sophia’s heads snapped up so fast Morgana was surprised she didn’t hear Uther’s neck crack with the movement.

Arthur looked back at them, back straight, confident and serious.  “And Merlin is my boyfriend.  That is – “

He turned to Merlin next to him, and gave him a smile so soft and affectionate even Morgana could feel her heart melting.  Merlin smiled back with one of those sweet, joyful smiles he seemed to bring out only for special occasions, and it was like no one but the two of them were in the room.  “That is,” Arthur continued, “if you want to be.”

“Yeah,” whispered Merlin, “I’d like that.”

Sophia fainted.

. . . .

Will helped a woozy Sophia into the back seat of Lancelot’s car.  “You know,” he said to her, voice low with seduction, “when this is all over – “

“Stay away from me you creepy man,” said Sophia.

Uther faced Morgana and Arthur at the curb where the car was parked.  “I’m disappointed in you two,” he told them.

“Goodbye Uther,” she said with finality, and walked back to the door where Merlin was standing.

Uther and Arthur had a conversation, but Morgana and Merlin weren’t all that interested in eavesdropping on them.  Lancelot and Gwen, however...

“Don’t go, Lancelot!” gushed Gwen.

“I must,” said Lancelot, holding her hands tightly in his.  “Our paths shall cross again someday, I am sure of it.”

“As long as I live my feelings for you will never fade!”

“Gosh,” said Merlin, fanning himself with one hand.

“They’ve known each other for what, five seconds?” commented Morgana, sardonically.

Merlin and Arthur disappeared up the stairs shortly after they all got back inside after seeing Uther, Sophia and Lancelot off.  Morgana sat in her armchair again.  “How about that cup of tea?” she asked Gwen, or Will - whoever was listening.

Gwen sighed to herself as she stared longingly out the window.  Morgana had no idea how she could see anything considering it was dark outside.  Will said, “Got anything stronger than tea?”

“There’s rum or wine or something on the top shelf of the pantry,” Morgana answered, gesturing vaguely.  Will went into the kitchen for a rummage and Morgana said to Gwen, conversationally, head lolling around on the armchair back:  “You know what?  I haven’t had any alcohol for months.  I think I’m never going to drink again.  Well.  I’ll never binge drink again... except for new years, because who wouldn’t?  And Christmas, got to drink at Christmas time.”

“That’s great Morgana,” sighed Gwen, “but I really couldn’t care less.

“I just met the man of my dreams,” she wailed, on the verge of tears.  “And now he’s gone awaaaayyy!”

. . . .

Upstairs, in the dim light of Arthur’s room, Arthur and Merlin were kissing.

Arthur leant over him, hands up Merlin’s shirt, and Merlin’s fingers were in Arthur’s hair.  They trailed down his neck and back, feeling the warmth of his skin and the firm muscles under his shirt.

Merlin and Arthur wouldn’t have sex together this night, though, because Arthur was a gentleman.  But regardless, Merlin had a wonderful orgasm, and a morning blow-job, too.  He also lived happily ever after, but don’t tell him that – he might spontaneously combust with happiness.


	5. Epilogue: More Stuff Just Happens Sometimes

Morgana sipped her glass of champagne and looked around the room.

Business men talked and guffawed and preened and showed off and boasted and had pissing contests.  (That last one was figurative.  Probably.)  It was one of those work dos she hated but had to attend.

“Hello Morgana,” said a smooth voice from behind her.  She elegantly turned around, polite smile in place.

She didn’t recognise him.

“Helloooo...” she said.  “How are you?”

He was a tall man with a trendy little beard.  Quite handsome, she thought, her eyes trailing from head to toe.  Well-dressed, confident.

Alex, one of the partners of her firm, came up and slung an arm around the man’s shoulders.  “Morgana,” he boomed, “I see you have met out newest member of our great team.”  He leaned forward and gave her a conspiratorial leer.  “Had to hire a new senior accountant after Steve resigned, didn’t I.”

“Yes, of course,” said Morgana.  That had been a good day.

“Tauren,” Alex addressed the man, “Morgana is one of our finest.  Be kind, won’t you.”

“Naturally,” said the man – Tauren – giving Morgana another kind of leer.

Later in the evening, Tauren said, “Let’s go back to your place.”

Morgana fingered the glass she’d been nursing the whole night.  “I’m... not sure that’s wise.”

His face fell.  “Oh no, you’re married, aren’t you?”

“Pardon?  No,” she laughed, “no.  Not unless you count me living with my brother and his boyfriend married.”

Tauren too laughed; he had a nice smile.  “Well?”

“I have a baby at home,” she confessed.

“Oh I see,” he said, nodding.  Then a peculiar look came over his face.  “It’s not mine, is it?”

“No!  How could it – it wouldn’t be – “

She did a double-take, and looked closely at him.  Mr Hairy Chest – was he, was he, was he Mr Hairy Chest?

“Um,” she said, “probably not.”

. . . .

Merlin awoke from his place on the couch, head pillowed on Arthur’s thigh.  He looked up with bleary eyes to see Morgana standing in the lamp light with another man.  “Hey,” he greeted, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

He looked over his shoulder at Arthur, who was dozing with baby Mordred in his arms.  Morgana made to pick Mordred up but Arthur made a noise in his half-sleep and cuddled him closer.

Merlin gave the stranger an embarrassed look.  “He’s very protective,” he told him.

The stranger only nodded.  Morgana eventually succeeded and took Mordred upstairs to his nursery, the man following.

Merlin cuddled back down with Arthur on the couch.  Arthur made more noises in his sleep and slid his hand into Merlin’s hair.

Silence, then: “We should probably go upstairs.”

“I like the couch,” answered Arthur from the darkness, sleepy and slow.

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to move.”

“It’s a good reason.”

“Get up.”

“No.  Alright.  In a minute.”

They didn’t.


End file.
